IHE 


CYRUS 

T0WNSEND 

BRADY 


LIBRARY 

NlVERSmr  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


• 


THE   PATRIOTS 


It's  nothing,'  said  her  husband,    ....    'A  bullet  in  my 
heart  couldn't  hurt  now  that  I  have  found  you  '  ' 

(Page  219) 


THE     STORY    OF    LEE 
AND   THE    LAST    HOPE 


AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  SOUTHERNERS,"  "A  LITTLB  TRAITOR  TO  THE 
SOUTH,"  •' MY  LADY'S  SLIPPER,"   ETC.,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOUR 
BY  WALTER  H.  EVBRBTT 


NEW  YORK 

DODD.    MEAD   &   COMPANY 
1906 


COKTRIGHT,  1906,  BT 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANF 

Published,  February,  igo6 


Dedicated  to 
John  Barnett   Knox 

of  Alabama,  an  American  indeed  whom 

I  am  proud  to  call 

my  friend. 


PREFACE 


"  PATRIOTISM,"  sententiously  declares  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  "  is  the  last  refuge  of  a  scoundrel !  " 

Yet  there  have  been  not  a  few  indifferent  honest 
men  who  confute  the  dictum  of  the  tea-drinking 
lexicographer,  in  that  their  chiefest  glory  was  in  their 
love  of  country;  as  Washington  and  Grant,  Lincoln 
and  Lee — to  name  four  of  our  greatest. 

All  these  men  are  mentioned  hereafter  in  these 
pages;  two  are  merely  referred  to,  a  third  plays  a 
small  but  important  part,  while  the  whole  romance 
revolves  about  the  last.  I  have  shown  Lee  in  some 
of  the  supreme  moments  of  his  career:  when  he  de 
clined  the  chief  command  of  all  the  armies  of  the 
United  States  to  become  a  major-general  in  the  Vir 
ginia  line ;  when  he  took  upon  himself  the  blame  for 
the  fruitless  assault  at  Gettysburg;  when  he  would 
fain  have  led  his  men  into  the  jaws  of  death,  the  veri 
table  mouth  of  hell  at  Spottsylvania ;  and,  lastly, — 
where  character  is  most  terribly  tried, — in  defeat  at 
Appomattox. 

In  every  situation  he  was  a  great,  a  dominant 
figure.  The  character  of  Lee  has  been  somewhat  lost 
sight  of  in  the  study  of  his  career,  but  it  fairly  glows 
with  all  that  is  high  and  noble  and  true.  The  Bayard 
of  the  South  exhibits  the  characteristics  of  the  Chris 
tian  gentleman  to  the  full.  His  is  a  personality  to  be 
studied,  to  be  followed,  to  be  loved.  In  his  greatness 
and  in  his  simplicity  he  is  an  enduring  inspiration  to 
true  manhood  for  all  America — the  world  even. 

I  did  not  always  think  thus.    Born  amid  the  roar 


PREFACE 

of  battle,  the  son  of  a  brave  Northern  soldier,  trained 
while  yet  the  bitterness  engendered  during  the  conflict 
lingered  in  the  memory,  my  youthful  impressions, 
hard  to  eradicate  as  such  ever  must  be,  gave  me  quite 
another  idea  of  the  great  Virginian,  and  one  that 
was  comprehended  in  an  ugly  word.  Years  of  study 
and  reflection  gradually  modified  that  conception, 
until  I  think  differently  now. 

History  has  ever  been  my  favourite  study,  and  the 
American  Civil  War  has  engrossed  a  large  part  of 
my  attention  during  my  life.  In  addition  to  my 
already  extensive  researches  in  this  field,  in  prepara 
tion  for  this  book,  I  read,  I  believe,  every  life  of  Lee 
that  has  been  published:  I  examined  a  great  num 
ber  of  volumes  of  memoirs  and  magazine  and  other 
ephemeral  articles  in  which  references  to  him  appear. 
I  corresponded  or  conversed  with  members  of  the  Lee 
family  about  certain  disputed  points.  I  have  also 
discussed  Lee  with  many  ex-soldiers  on  both  sides. 
These  all  have  helped  me  make  the  picture.  May 
those  who  knew  him  and  loved  him,  those  who  fought 
with  or  against  him,  find  my  presentation  a  true  one. 

I  shall  not  now  discuss  the  oft-mooted  question, 
which  was  the  greater  soldier,  Grant  or  Lee?  It  is 
a  fascinating  theme  which  I  hope  some  time  to  con 
sider,  but  not  now.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  there  was 
greatness,  and  military  ability,  and  high-souled  con 
duct  and  character  enough  about  each  of  these  men  to 
make  us  proud  and  glad  that  it  was  given  to  the  same 
land  to  father  them  both.  From  the  Rappahannock 
to  Appomattox  there  was  abundant  illustration  on 
both  sides  of  every  soldierly  and  personal  quality  in 
captains  and  men,  to  make  us  love  to  dwell  impar 
tially  upon  the  story.  And  the  appropriateness  of  the 
title  I  have  selected  for  my  novel  I  think  no  one  will 
dispute  to-day. 


PREFACE 

For  the  rest,  some  of  the  incidents  in  the  double 
love  story  that  follows — for  be  it  remembered  that 
primarily  this  is  a  romance,  after  all — are  founded 
upon  facts  and,  in  part,  at  least,  I  do  but  tell  the  tale 
as  it  was  told  to  me.  As  will  be  seen,  the  coloured 
brother  plays  some  small  part,  too.  Unwilling  to 
trust  my  own  ability  to  transcribe  his  speech,  I  availed 
myself  of  the  service  of  a  friendly  expert — who  shall 
be  nameless — and  submitted  the  matter  to  his  critical 
judgment.  The  letter  that  follows  accompanied  the 
much  corrected  proof. 

Sad'dy. 
MY  DEAR  BRER  BRADY, 

Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Is  anybody 
yever  see  de  beat  er  dat!  I  grab  my  stummick  V  laff,  seh,  twell  I 
mos'  bus'.  It  seem  lek  ter  me  dat  when  white  fokes  tries  fer  ter 
talk  niggar  fokes,  dey  sho'  does  'splay  der  igfnunce.  Fo'  Gawd, 
Brer  Brady,  I'se  downright  shame  er  you,  oat's  what  I  is,  I'se 
downright  shame  er  you. 

Passin'  de  time  er  day  wid  you  an'  yo'  fambly,  I  stay  des  lek 
I  alters  is, 

Yo'n, 

BRER  RABBIT. 

I  insert  this  letter  that  the  gentle  reader  may  begin 
the  book  with  a  good  laugh — at  me,  if  not  with  me — 
and  thus  be  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind  to  look  kindly 
on  what  follows. 

CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY 

TOLEDO,  OHIO 
Christmastide, 


CONTENTS 

PRELUDE 

PACK 

THE  PATH  OF  DUTY xiii 

BOOK    I 
IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  DECISION 

CHAPTER 

I    ANSWERED • 3 

II    "  GOD  SAVE  THE  UNITED  STATES  !"      18 

III  FOR  ARIADNE'S  SAKE     33 

IV  THE  DAY  BREAKS          42 

V    AGE  AND  YOUTH — AND  A  WOMAN         51 

VI    "So  RUNS  THE  WORLD  AWAY" 58 

BOOK    II 

THE  TIMES  THAT  TRIED 
VII    THE  ARMY  OF  NORTHERN  VIRGINIA      69 

VIII    OH,  THE  WILD  CHARGE  THEY  MADE  !  79 

IX   THE  PROPHET'S  WORD  92 

X   THE  AFTERMATH  OF  PAIN      102 

XI    THE  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  SLAIN     116 

XIJ    REVELATIONS        128 

BOOK    III 

KATHLEEN 

XIII  THE  DOUBLE  TRUST      145 

XIV  A  WRONG  AMENDED     158 

XV    THE  CHANGING  CURRENTS     167 

XVI   THE  REVELATION          176 

XVII    KATHLEEN  REAPS  WHERE  SHE  HAD  NOT  SOWN     . . .  184 
XVIII    THE  BOOK  OF  THE  HEART     , 192 


CONTENTS 

BOOK    IV 

ARIADNE 

CHAPTBR  PAGB 

XIX  IN  THE  WILDERNESS ...  205 

XX  A  FORGOTTEN  DUTY     214 

XXI  A  BRAVE  MESSENGER     226 

XXII  THE  RISK  IN  THE  RUSE         241 

XXIII  A  HEAVY  PRICE 252 

XXIV  THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  DARK 263 

BOOK    V 
"  LEE'  s  MISERABLES  ' ' 

XXV    THE  MAN  AGAINST  THE  GUN        279 

XXVI    THE  MERCY  OF  THE  GREAT  CAPTAIN 293 

XXVII    THE  SALIENT  IN  THE  LINE 304 

XXVIII    THE  BLOODY  ANGLE  AT  HELL'S  HALF- ACRE        ...  316 

XXIX    AFTER  SPOTTSYLVANIA  322 

XXX    THE  ROBINGS  OF   GLORY,   THE   GLOOM  OF  DEFEAT  333 

POSTLUDE 
THE  PATH  OF  DUTY  TO  THE  END       344 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"'IT'S  NOTHING,'  SAID  HER  HUSBAND,  .  .  . 
'A  BULLET  IN  MY  HEART  COULDN'T  HURT 
NOW  THAT  I  HAVE  FOUND  You." Frontispiece 

"  IT  WAS  ARMISTEAD.  BEHIND  HIM  THE  FLAGS 
AND  A  FEW,  OH,  GOD,  A  MERE  HANDFUL 
OF  MEN  !  "  Facing  page  90 

"' GOOD-BYE,'  SAID  KATHLEEN  IN  A  WHISPER; 
'  I  CAN'T  HATE  You ;  I  MUST  LOVE 
You.*"  "  "  156 

"  IT  WAS  A  W£IRD  AND  MYSTERIOUS  PROGRESS, 

AS  THE  NIGHT  FELL  AND  DARKNESS  CAME."        "       "       264 

"YOUTH  WITH  ITS  PURPOSE,  AGE  WITH  ITS 
KNOWLEDGE,  THE  WOMAN  BETWEEN,  THEY 
STOOD  THEN  STARING  OUT  UPON  A  STARRY 
FLAG "  "  346 


PRELUDE 


•      THE  PATH  OF  DUTY 

IT  was  springtime  in  that  city  embowered  in  trees  and 
flowers,  Washington.  An  officer  sat  his  horse  on  the 
gravel  walk  in  front  of  a  stately  old  Colonial  man 
sion,  with  its  high-pillared  porch,  which,  from  its 
coign  of  vantage  on  the  high  bluffs  bordering  the 
river,  overlooked  the  Potomac  and  the  white  city 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  stream. 

"  You  will  be  back  for  supper,  Robert?  "  queried  a 
handsome  matron  who  stood  beneath,  the  portico 
looking  down  upon  her  husband. 

"  Yes,  without  fail." 

"  Do  not  let  anything  keep  you,  dear." 

"  I  shall  not."  ' 

"  I  feel  so  nervous  in  these  unsettled  times  without 
you  and  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  only  two  persons  to  see,  my  dear,"  re 
turned  the  horseman  reassuringly,  "  Mr.  Blair,  who 
wrote  me  that  he  had  a  message  from  the  President, 
and  General  Scott." 

"  Well,  do  not  get  to  talking  over  old  army  ex 
periences  with  the  general  and  forget  that  I  am  wait 
ing  for  you." 

"No  one  could  make  me  forget  that,"  said  the 
man,  smiling  pleasantly.  Then  his  voice  changed;  he 
shook  his  head.  "  We  will  not  talk  over  old  army 
experiences  now,  Mary,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness. 


PRELUDE 

"  It  is  hard  for  you,  I  know,"  returned  the  woman, 
comprehending  with  wifely  instinct  the  hidden  mean 
ing  in  the  phrase,  "  but  you  must  do  your  duty." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  husband  thoughtfully. 
"  Duty."  He  paused.  "  It  is  the  noblest  word  in  the 
English  language,  I  think  .  .  and  the  hardest. 
Good-bye.  I  shall  be  back  for  tea,  do  not  fear." 

He  lifted  his  hat  with  chivalric  courtesy  and 
knightly  grace,  bent  low  before  her,  called  a  cheery 
good-bye  to  the  children  playing  on  porch  or  lawn  and 
cantered  slowly  away.  There  was  one  word  above 
duty  in  the  feminine  vocabulary,  and  that  was  love. 
It  shone  in  the  woman's  eyes  as  she  watched  her  sol 
dier-horseman  in  the  uniform  of  a  lieutenant-colonel 
in  the  United  States  Army  ride  away  from  the  green 
slopes  of  tree-clad  Arlington.  Yet  the  woman  who 
stood  there  was  of  a  race  that  would  not  hesitate  to 
hold  even  its  love  as  naught  beside  its  duty. 

Down  the  hill,  across  the  long  bridge,  through  the 
dusky  outskirts,  into  the  city  and  then  to  an  office- 
building  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue  the  horseman  rode, 
busy  with  his  thoughts.  He  was  a  person  of  no  little 
importance,  well  known  to  the  city  of  Washington, 
and  although  he  was  intensely  preoccupied  he  did  not 
fail  to  notice  and  invariably  to  return,  not  merely  the 
perfunctory  salutes  of  the  soldiers,  with  which  the 
town  was  already  filling,  but  the  formal  recognitions 
of  sundry  citizens  who  claimed  the  honour  of  his  ac 
quaintance,  as  well  as  the  more  cordial  bows  from 
certain  fair  ladies  who  looked  upon  his  goodly  and 
handsome  person  with  smiles  of  approbation,  as  they 
passed  him  in  carriages  or  on  foot,  on  the  broad  tree- 
shaded  avenue. 

He  had  been  followed  by  a  liveried  negro  on  horse 
back,  and  to  him  he  tossed  the  bridle  as  he  went  into 
the  building.  Long  time  he  stayed  there.  He  had 


PRELUDE 

been  a  grave,  silent  figure  when  he  entered;  he  was 
graver  and  more  silent  when  he  came  out. 

Ambition  is  said  to  be  the  god  of  the  soldier. 
Power,  opportunity,  had  tempted  this  man's  talent. 
Direct  from  the  President  of  the  United  States  him 
self,  through  one  who  stood  near  to  him,  had  come 
an  unequivocal  offer  to  him  of  the  highest  position  in 
his  chosen  vocation.  Virginia  had  seceded.  War 
would  eventuate  before  many  days.  The  command 
of  the  army  of  the  United  States,  the  chief,  the  su 
preme  command,  had  been  offered  to  this  man  who 
was  then  merely  a  lieutenant-colonel  of  cavalry — and 
he  had  refused  it! 

He  was  gifted  with  that  imagination  without  which 
there  is  no  greatness,  the  imagination  which  foresees, 
which  men  sometimes  call  prophetic.  He  could  read 
the  signs  of  the  times.  He  could  realise  the  deadly 
nature  of  the  approaching  struggle.  No  position  had 
been  offered  him  by  any  authority  on  the  other  side. 
He  did  not  know  that  any  would  be  tendered  him. 
Certainly  he  could  not  hope  for  such  a  preferment 
there.  Indeed  he  might  be  relegated  to  obscurity. 
He  might  not  find  favour  with  the  powers  that  were 
shaping  the  destinies  of  the  new  Confederacy.  His 
sword  might  rust  in  its  scabbard.  Against  that  pos 
sibility  of  oblivion  he  had  received  the  assurance  posi 
tive  of  such  professional  advancement,  with  its  corre 
sponding  opportunities  for  glory  and  fame,  as  have 
rarely  come  to  a  soldier. 

Rich,  influential,  possessed  of  all  that  could  make 
life  easy  and  delightful,  this  officer  had  clung  to  his 
military  career  from  pure  love  of  it.  The  blood  of 
his  father,  the  great  light  horseman,  whose  legions 
had  been  famed  alike  in  the  valleys  of  the  Hudson 
and  in  the  mountains  of  the  Carolinas,  was  quick  in 
his  veins.  He  had  remained  the  soldier  even  though 


PRELUDE 

his  calling  parted  him  from  home,  from  those  he 
cherished,  his  wife,  his  children,  his  friends,  and  sent 
him  alone  to  the  arid  plains  of  Texas.  He  had  loved 
— he  did  still  love — that  flag  which  he  had  carried  to 
victory,  that  banner  for  which  he  had  blazed  a  path 
way  through  valleys  and  mountains  of  old  Mexico. 

Yet  as  he  came  out  of  that  door  he  realised  that  he 
had  refused  definitely,  even  peremptorily,  the  com 
mand  of  the  army  of  the  United  States !  Irrevocably 
but  not  lightly,  promptly  but  not  carelessly,  unequivo 
cally  but  not  indifferently,  had  he  chosen.  Back  of 
his  decision  was  that  profound  feeling  of  obligation, 
the  sense  of  oughtness,  that  men  call  duty — that  hard 
word  which  is  spread  on  honour's  guide  post  to  point 
the  way  to  service,  God's  and  Man's.  From  a  pro 
found  conviction  that  his  allegiance  lay  with  his 
native  state,  that  his  duty  first  was  to  her,  he  had 
chosen,  and  with  almost  a  breaking  heart. 

Yet  his  feelings  did  not  make  him  hesitate  a  mo 
ment  as  to  his  course.  He  had  known  from  the  first 
what  his  choice  would  be.  There  was  no  balancing 
of  reasons  pro  and  con;  his  convictions  were  clear  and 
definite.  Any  other  decision  was  as  impossible  to  him 
as  lying  or  theft.  Virginia  called  him,  the  land  of 
his  fathers,  the  land  of  his  wife,  the  land  of  his  chil 
dren,  the  land  of  his  friends — his  home.  Whatever 
happened  he  was  hers.  He  must  be  upon  her  side. 
He  was  a  Virginian  first,  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States  second.  Virginia  had  been  a  state  and  his  fore 
bears  had  led  in  its  councils  and  struggles  long  before 
the  Articles  of  Confederation  were  dreamed  of.  The 
Old  Dominion  had  the  prior  claim.  His  course  was 
as  clear  as  it  was  righteous  to  him.  He  was  as  truly 
patriotic  as  he  was  sincere  in  his  belief. 

He  had  one  other  duty  to  perform.  In  an  office 
further  in  the  city  sat  an  old  man,  a  huge  belaced  old 


PRELUDE 

veteran,  who  had  fought  for  his  country  with  bril 
liancy  and  courage  and  success  in  two  great  wars. 
This  old  soldier  had  been  his  commander.  From  him 
he  had  learned  that  practical  part  of  the  art  of  war 
which  cannot  be  had  from  text-books.  To  him  he 
must  go.  He  had  been  on  the  old  general's  staff  in 
Mexico,  and  the  general  had  ever  been  his  friend. 
It  was  to  his  recommendation  that  the  offer  from  the 
President  was  due.  Courtesy,  duty,  affection,  all  led 
him  to  the  man  who  was  then  general-in-chief  and 
whom  he  would  have  succeeded  had  he  acceded  to  the 
President's  request. 

It  was  evidence  of  the  urgency  of  the  situation  that, 
without  any  other  formality  than  the  announcement 
qf  his  name,  he  was  admitted  instantly  into  the 
presence  of  the  most  punctilious  and  ceremonious  cap 
tain  of  his  times.  The  interview  between  the  great 
chieftain  and  his  brilliant  subordinate  was  brief.  This 
soldier,  too,  was  a  Virginian,  but  from  his  childhood 
he  had  been  separated  from  his  state.  He  had  been 
a  soldier  for  forty-three  of  his  seventy-five  years. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  a  change  in  his  allegiance 
in  his  mind.  To  him  the  United  States  was  all.  To 
his  subordinate  Virginia  occupied  the  highest  place. 
Each  man  respected  the  other's  feeling.  There  was 
no  bitter  argument  between  them,  no  recrimination, 
only  a  great  sadness,  a  lasting  regret.  The  younger 
man  told  the  elder  of  his  decision,  thanked  him  for 
the  good  words  he  had  spoken,  declared  his  intention 
of  resigning  from  the  United  States  service,  and  bade 
him  farewell. 

He  came  out  of  that  room  with  a  heightened 
melancholy.  He  had  looked  his  last  upon  his  ancient 
captain.  That  veteran  soldier  was  about  to  relinquish 
the  duties  of  active  service  too  exacting  and  arduous 
for  his  great  age.  From  his  well-earned  retirement, 


PRELUDE 

as  his  life  declined  to  its  close,  he  was  to  watch  with 
the  interest  of  a  master — and  of  a  friend  bereft — the 
great  game  of  war  about  to  be  played,  in  which  his 
old  friend  showed  to  such  advantage — and  some 
times  in  spite  of  himself  to  feel  a  thrill  of  pride  per 
haps  at  the  brilliant  strategy  and  tactics  of  his  pupil ! 

And  the  heart  of  the  younger  man,  who  had  ever 
looked  up  to  and  reverenced  his  former  commander, 
whom  he  had  served  so  brilliantly,  was  sad,  too,  when 
he  thought  that  he  should  see  him  no  more.  He  was 
heavy  in  the  knowledge  that  he  might  some  day  be 
called  upon  to  break  up  the  other's  plans,  to  turn  the 
sword  against  him. 

He  was  back  again  at  Arlington  in  the  evening, 
as  he  had  promised — that  Arlington  he  loved  and 
which  he  must  soon  leave  forever,  that  Arlington  in 
which  the  spirits  of  his  gallant  forebears  now  mingle 
with  the  spirits  of  the  brave  who  sleep  in  thousands 
'neath  its  leafy  aisles,  upon  its  verdant  slopes.  The 
contented  negroes  came  to  meet  their  beloved  master. 
His  happy  children  clustered  about  him.  Only  that 
daughter  of  noble  line  who  bore  most  worthily  his 
name  read  beneath  the  unruffled  brow,  which  he  ever 
presented  to  adversity  and  sorrow,  what  was  in  the 
great  heart. 

A  few  days  after  an  officer  was  received  in  state  by 
the  Legislature  of  Virginia  in  the  capitol  at  Rich 
mond.  The  soldier  of  Arlington  had  put  off  the  uni 
form  of  the  United  States  and  was  now  clad  in  the 
modest  grey  clothes  that  indicated  the  service  of 
Virginia.  That  Legislature,  speaking  for  the  state 
alone,  had  just  created  him  major-general  and  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  her  forces,  and  its  members  were 
now  gathered  to  receive  him  as  of  old  their  fore 
fathers  had  received  George  Washington.  In  words 
of  graceful  compliment  they  congratulated  him  and 


PRELUDE 

welcomed  him.  And  to  them  Robert  Edward  Lee,  as 
modest  as  his  great  prototype,  his  father's  friend, 
made  this  simple  reply: 

"  Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Convention : 
Profoundly  impressed  with  the  solemnity  of  the  occa 
sion,  for  which  I  must  say  I  was  not  prepared,  I  ac 
cept  the  position  assigned  me  by  your  partiality.  I 
would  have  much  preferred  had  the  choice  fallen  upon 
an  abler  man.  Trusting  to  Almighty  God,  an  approv 
ing  conscience  and  the  aid  of  my  fellow-citizens,  I 
devote  myself  to  the  service  of  my  native  state,  in 
whose  behalf  alone  will  I  ever  again  draw  my  sword." 

It  is  only  the  voice  of  ignorance,  of  malice,  that 
dares  to  call  this  man  a  traitor. 


BOOK   ONE 
In  the  Valley  of  Decision 


THE     PATRIOTS 


CHAPTER  I 

ANSWERED 

LESS  subtle  than  the  woman,  the  man's  thoughts  were 
entirely  obvious — and  they  spelled  adoration  I  If  one 
had  sought  to  discern  from  her  outward  manifesta 
tions  what  emotions  her  breast  tabernacled,  mockery 
mingled  with  merriment  would  have  been  apparent. 
She  stood  above  him — the  woman's  place ;  he  looking 
up  to  her — the  man's  duty.  Woe  to  the  sweet  alliance 
of  the  sexes  in  love  in  which  the  woman  does  not 
bend  above,  the  man  does  not  aspire  to  the  woman's 
height ! 

She  was  tall  enough,  had  they  been  side  by  side, 
to  have  met  him  with  a  level  glance,  or  almost.  There 
was  that  difference  physically  between  them  that  there 
should  be  spiritually,  only  physically  he — as  it  should 
be — was  the  larger  and  stronger  being,  as  spiritually 
she  predominated.  His  strength  was  in  abeyance  just 
then.  Her  beauty  and  her  charm  had  mastered  him. 
She  fancied  him  like  clay  within  her  hands,  shapely 
and  beautiful  and  strong  for  moulding.  Could  she 
mould  him  ?  That  was  to  be  seen.  Now,  that  after 
noon,  it  was  to  be  tried. 

Before  those  two  loomed  a  parting  of  the  ways. 
Should  she  take  his  hand  and  follow  along  the  right- 
hand  path?  Or  should  she  go  to  the  eastward  and 
summon  him  to  her?  Was  the  leash  that  held  the 


4  THE   PATRIOTS 

heart  of  her  lover  in  check  strong  enough  to  drag 
the  man  whither  he  fain  would  not  go? 

A  horse  fastened  to  the  hitching  post  outside  the 
gate  at  the  end  of  the  long  lane  stamped  his  feet 
impatiently;  his  tail  slapped  his  sides,  irritated  by  the 
summer  flies.  That  horse  had  borne  him  there  at  a 
gallop.  If  he  had  been  human  he  might  have  eased 
his  fretting  by  considering  whether  he  was  to  spend 
the  night  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  great  red  barn  back 
of  the  house,  or  whether  he  was  to  carry  back  the  im 
patient  rider  who  had  found  his  best  pace  too  slow 
in  the  coming.  The  woman  had  suggested  that  the 
horse  be  stabled,  but  the  man  had  declared  that  the 
exigencies  of  the  time  demanded  that  he  should  first 
have  a  decision  which,  at  some  peril  to  his  liberty  and 
in  some  sense  to  his  honour,  he  had  come  to  receive. 

The  young  man  had  been  at  the  old  farmhouse 
many  a  time  during  the  last  two  years.  She  had 
placed  herself  before  him  many  a  time  as  she  was 
placed  that  afternoon,  seated  on  the  low  rail  of  the 
porch,  her  alluring  foot — as  handsome  and  shapely 
a  foot,  if  a  little  larger,  and  as  well  clad,  as  that 
of  any  Southern  girl  with  whom  he  had  ever 
tripped  through  the  dance — swinging  dazzlingly 
like  a  pendulum  before  him.  Her  back  was 
bordered  by  clinging  .  masses  of  purple  clematis 
twining  around  white  pillars,  against  which  her 
bright  hair  shone  golden  in  the  sun.  Had 
she  caught  that  violet  touch  of  colour  in  her  eyes 
from  the  flowers  ?  he  wondered,  on  that  day  he  had 
first  declared  his  love,  and,  reaching  up  from  where 
he  had  stood  on  the  step  slightly  beneath  her,  had 
kissed  her  hand  and  then  had  slipped  his  arm  about 
her  waist  and  held  her  tightly  less  she  should  fall 
from  the  porch.  That  was  a  year  ago  this  present 
summer.  He  had  imagined  that  the  course  of  his  life 


ANSWERED  5 

was  thenceforth  and  forever  settled,  that  it  was  to  be 
spent  with  this  beloved  woman.  But  now  he  had 
come  to  see  indeed  whether  the  dream  of  the  year 
was  to  vanish  in  a  stern  awakening  to  the  sound  of 
cannon. 

For  these  two  were  from  different  sections  of  a 
country  which  was  hopelessly  divided  upon  a  question 
of  principle.  The  question  was  an  abstract  one,  and 
it  might — so  cold  philosophy  would  have  put  it — 
have  been  discussed  without  heat,  without  animosity; 
but  philosophy  makes  no  accounting  of  human  pas 
sions,  and  the  debate  about  the  interpretation  of  an 
ancient  document  revered  as  the  Constitution  had  en 
gendered  bitter  antagonisms  which  had  bred  hot  un 
reasoning  hatreds.  The  contention  was  exceeding 
sharp  and  bitter.  Love  shot  his  bolts  against  bucklers 
of  misunderstanding  which  his  blunt  points,  made  for 
penetrable  human  hearts,  could  not  pierce.  Partaking 
of  the  national  hatred,  a  coldness,  better,  a  constraint, 
had  sprung  up  between  the  lovers — a  constraint  that 
one  other,  who  had  only  suspected  how  things  had 
been,  viewed  with  equanimity,  nay,  satisfaction. 

The  young  man  from  the  South  was  a  student,  or 
had  been  four  days  before,  at  Harvard  College.  His 
dearest  friend  and  classmate  was  a  brother  of  this 
girl.  Scarcely  second  in  his  affections  was  the  third 
person  who  had  been  glad  at  the  signs  of  the  impend 
ing  rupture  between  his  friend  and  his  other  friend's 
sister.  Philip  Grafton  cherished  Burt  Kirkwood  and 
George  Manning  in  his  heart  of  hearts  after  Kathleen 
Kirkwood,  Burt's  younger  and  only  sister.  The  three 
friends,  one  from  Massachusetts,  one  from  Pennsyl 
vania  and  one  from  Virginia,  had  developed  in  their 
six  years  at  the  great  old  University  one  of  those 
friendships  which  not  sixty  years  of  severance  would 
diminish.  They  had  been  more  than  brothers  to 


6  THE   PATRIOTS 

one  another,  yet  singularly  enough  Grafton  had  not 
confided  either  to  his  prospective  brother-in-law  or 
to  Manning  the  engagement  which  had  been  entered 
upon  by  him  and  Kathleen,  though  Kirkwood  found 
it  out  certainly  and  Manning  at  last  suspected  it. 

Perhaps  Grafton  divined  Manning's  passion  for 
the  girl  he  loved,  and,  knowing  it  to  be  hopeless,  pitied 
him.  It  is  only  the  love  that  is  returned  that  awakens 
jealousy.  With  the  forlorn  hope  that  in  time  Man 
ning  might  get  over  it,  or  recognise  the  futility  of 
further  pursuit,  Grafton  had  consented  to  Kathleen's 
wish  that  there  should  be  no  announcement  of  an  en 
gagement  between  them.  Why  Kathleen  wished  it 
this  way — well,  that  was  a  whim  of  hers,  perhaps. 
At  any  rate  Grafton  made  no  attempt  to  discover  a 
reason,  content  in  the  sharing  of  the  sweet,  delightful 
secret,  confident  that  the  time  would  soon  come  to 
declare  it  to  the  world.  The  fact  that  it  was  not 
known,  although  it  had  not  entered  into  Kathleen's 
calculations  at  the  time,  was  advantageous  in  the 
present  situation ;  for,  should  she  be  unable  to  answer 
Grafton  as  he  desired,  should  Grafton  fail  in  the  test 
of  his  affection  which  she  proposed  to  lay  upon  him, 
they  could  separate  and  no  one  would  ever  know. 

The  friendship  between  the  three  men  had  been  so 
great  that  the  impending  Civil  War,  which  broke  up 
so  many  affections,  had  not  been  allowed  by  any  of 
them  to  interfere.  Indeed  Grafton's  course  had  been 
something  of  an  enigma.  Promptly  upon  the  seces 
sion  of  their  several  states  the  young  Southern  men 
at  Harvard,  especially  those  in  the  graduating  classes, 
who  had  reached  man's  estate,  had  severed  their  con 
nection  with  the  University.  Alone,  among  the 
Southerners,  Grafton  had  remained  to  be  graduated 
with  his  class.  The  student  life  was  like  art  in  those 
days,  very  long,  and  the  three  men  did  not  receive  their 


ANSWERED  7 

diplomas  until  July  17,  1861.  Philip,  in  addition  to 
his  four-year  course  in  Arts  and  Letters,  had  given 
two  years  to  the  Law.  Kirkwood  and  Manning 
also. 

Kathleen  had  visited  Cambridge  for  the  Class  Day 
exercises  and  then  had  returned  to  New  York  for  a 
week's  shopping,  then  back  to  old  York  in  Pennsyl 
vania,  her  home.  There  had  been  a  tentative  debate 
on  certain  propositions  impending  between  her  lover 
and  herself,  and  he  had  promised  to  stop  over  at  York 
for  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  before  he  went 
South — a  promise  that  involved  much,  for  Grafton's 
course  in  staying  at  the  University  had  been  severely 
commented  upon  both  in  Cambridge  by  the  departing 
Southerners,  and  in  Virginia,  where  his  family  and 
wealth  made  him  a  person  of  some  little  importance. 
It  had  excited  notice  even  among  the  Northern  men, 
who  were  as  fiercely  patriotic  and  as  fully  determined 
to  put  down  the  growing  rebellion  as  the  men  of  Vir 
ginia  and  the  South  were  resolute  to  break  away  and 
set  up  a  government  of  their  own. 

It  was  only  the  staunch  and  tried  friendship  of 
Kirkwood  and  Manning,  who  stood  by  their  friend, 
that  prevented  the  antagonism  his  known  secession 
views  aroused  from  breaking  out  into  open  demonstra 
tions  of  animosity.  Grafton,  who  had  previously 
been  popular  with  every  one,  found  himself  suddenly 
ostracised,  yet  he  went  about  the  closing  duties  of  his 
last  term  with  a  quiet  Intensity  of  purpose,  with  a 
calm,  cool  courage,  that  awakened  the  admiration  of 
the  fair-minded  men  of  his  class — who  were  not  few. 
He  made  no  parade  of  his  sentiments  on  the  one  hand, 
neither  did  he  refrain  from  expressing  his  opinions, 
when  it  was  proper,  on  the  other.  His  course  and 
his  friends'  advocacy  won  respect,  and  when  his  di 
ploma  was  handed  him,  the  last  representative  of 


8  THE    PATRIOTS 

Virginia  and  the  South  in  "  Fair  Harvard,"  as  much 
of  a  stranger  in  Massachusetts  as  if  he  had  been  from 
a  foreign  land,  he  was  actually  cheered.  For  the 
moment  a  better  feeling  was  exhibited,  and  his  class 
mates  closed  about  him,  congratulating  him  and  bid 
ding  him  good-bye.  For  many  of  those  who  went 
into  the  army  on  either  side  it  was  an  eternal  fare 
well. 

Manning  had  already  been  commissioned  in  a  Mas 
sachusetts  regiment  and  only  awaited  his  graduation 
to  march  away.  Kirkwood  was  also  appointed  to  a 
subaltern's  station  in  the  Pennsylvania  line.  To  his 
friends  Philip  had  announced  his  intention  of  enlist 
ing  in  the  Virginia  troops  so  soon  as  he  received  his 
diploma.  The  parting  between  the  three  friends  was 
a  sad  one.  When  they  met  again  it  might  be  in  the 
forefront  of  battle.  They  swore  friendship  everlast 
ing  to  one  another,  and  each  promised  himself  to  help 
the  other  should  the  fortunes  of  war  ever  afford  an 
opportunity,  and  then  they  bade  one  another  good-bye. 
Manning  was  forced  to  stay  with  his  company;  Kirk- 
wood  had  been  ordered  to  join  his  regiment  in  Phila 
delphia;  therefore  Grafton  came  down  alone  to  the 
little  Pennsylvania  town  nestling  among  the  hills. 

He  should  have  hastened  across  the  line  to  Vir 
ginia  without  a  moment's  delay,  but  he  could  not  go 
without  resolving  that  unsettled  question  with  Kath 
leen  Kirkwood.  He  feared  that  the  war  would  be  a 
long  one  and  a  bloody  one.  He  surmised  that  most  of 
it  would  be  fought  to  the  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line.  When  he  could  see  the  woman  of  his  choice 
once  he  left  her  he  could  not  imagine.  The  separa 
tion  would  be  a  long  one.  He  could  not  go  without 
a  settlement.  For  that  settlement  he  had  come  to 
her. 

The  girl  had  refused  to  believe  in  the  urgency  and 


ANSWERED  9 

the  strength  of  the  call  upon  him  which  would  hale 
him  from  her  side. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  you  can 
feel  in  this  way  now." 

;'Why  not  now?" 

"  Because  you  stayed  so  long  at  college.  Let  me 
see,  Virginia  went  out  of  the  Union  on  the  iyth  of 
April,  three  months  to  the  very  day  before  you 
graduated.  All  the  Southerners  at  Harvard  left,  but 
you  stayed  on.  I  thought  .  ."  she  said,  looking 
away  from  him,  but  artfully  turning  her  head  so  that 
he  could  see  the  delicious  curve  of  her  chin  and  note 
the  lovely  colour  of  youth  and  health  upon  her  cheek, 
"  I  thought  you  stayed  for  .  .  for  me  .  . 
for  my  sake." 

Philip  was  nothing,  if  not  honest. 

"  Kathleen,  dearest  Kathleen,"  he  said,  leaning 
forward  until  he  could  put  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  in  the  balance.  I 
thought  I  had  your  heart  secure,  as  you  have  mine." 

She  flashed  a  look  down  upon  him  and  then  lifted 
her  head  quickly  again. 

"  I  stayed  for  that  diploma,"  he  continued.  "  My 
father,  my  grandfather,  my  great-grandfather,  all 
graduated  from  Harvard.  I  had  worked  six  years, 
counting  my  Arts  and  Letters  course,  for  that  bit  of 
parchment.  My  heart  .  .  what  of  it  you  did  not 
own,  dearest  .  .  was  with  the  South,  but  I  knew 
there  would  be  plenty  of  opportunities  to  prove  my 
devotion  there  later  on." 

Kathleen  shook  herself  with  a  movement  of  irrita 
tion. 

"  Wait,  hear  me !  "  continued  the  man.  "  And  so 
I  stayed  until  I  graduated,  for  the  degree." 

"  You  must  prize  that  bit  of  parchment  highly !  " 
snapped  the  offended  young  woman. 


io  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  I  do.  Saving  two  things  it  is  more  to  me  than 
anything  .  ." 

He  hesitated. 

"  And  those  are?"  cried  the  girl. 

"  The  first  is,  You,  dearest." 

"Phil!" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head.  He  turned  his 
face  up,  and  as  her  hand  dropped  slowly  down  across 
his  brow  he  kissed  the  palm. 

"  Then  you  still     .     .     ." 

"  You  didn't  give  me  time  to  finish,  darling." 

"  Oh,  I  remember.    There  was  a  second  thing." 

"  Yes."  He  was  reluctant  to  say  what  it  was,  but 
honour  and  duty  constrained  him. 

"And  that  was?"  she  questioned. 

"  Virginia  P* 

No,  Virginia  was  not  a  woman,  as  well  she  knew. 
There  was  no  other  woman.  It  was  the  state.  Not 
merely  an  extent  of  territory,  but  a  state  of  being  also, 
for  in  that  single  word  was  comprised  to  him  all  the 
manly  qualities  that  blended  into  what  we  call  by  the 
name  of  honour;  to  her  it  stood  for  the  loss  of  her 
lover,  for  many  things  she  hated. 

"  First  the  diploma,  and  then  Virginia  and  then 
me !  "  cried  the  girl,  impatiently  shaking  off  his  hand 
and  rising  to  her  feet.  She  was  hurt,  wounded,  dis 
appointed,  angry,  and  showed  it  plainly.  "  Well, 
sir,  you  have  earned  the  diploma.  But  you  must 
choose  between  .  .  ." 

"  Kathleen,  don't  say     .     .     ." 

"  Between  me  and  your  state,  sir!  " 

"  Are  you  jealous  of  a  state,  of  a. point  of  honour?  " 

"  I  am  jealous  of  nothing,  of  no  one,"  she  re 
sented  quickly,  "  but  I  brook  no  divided  allegiance. 
No,  do  not  misunderstand  me,"  she  went  on  swiftly, 
not  giving  him  a  chance  to  speak;  "  I  am  a  Pennsyl- 


ANSWERED  n 

vanian,  but  above  all  I  am  for  the  United  States! 
My  fathers  fought  to  establish  it,  as  did  yours.  I  can 
not  bear  to  think  that  the  man  I  love  is  going  to  fight 
to  hold  a  portion  of  the  human  race  in  bondage." 

"  It's  not  that,"  interrupted  Philip  hotly.  "  It's 
States  Rights  versus  .  .  ." 

"  I  do  not  care  how  you  phrase  it,"  persisted  the 
girl  obstinately;  "that's  the  way  I  feel  about  it.  I 
cannot,  will  not,  love  a  man  who  is  not  true  to  the 
flag!  There  is  no  question  with  me  between  state 
and  nation.  And  I'll  marry  no  man  who  will  not  love 
me  above  everything !  " 

"  And  if  I  were  for  the  North  would  you  have  me 
love  you  above  the  flag  you  have  floating  from  the 
staff  yonder?" 

In  those  days  of  doubt  and  trouble  many  a  yard  had 
its  own  private  flagstaff. 

"  That's  different,"  she  returned  audaciously;  "  we 
would  love  it  together  anyway,  you  and  I,  and  I 
should  not  care.  I  should  glory  in  you  then." 

This  was  shockingly  inconsistent,  and  under  other 
circumstances  he  would  have  promptly  called  her  at 
tention  to  it,  but  neither  stood  upon  the  trivialities 
of  debate  then.  They  had  got  down  to  the  root 
of  things  and  were  in  no  mood  for  argumentative 
trifles. 

"  And  I  say,"  retorted  Grafton  quickly,  "  that  the 
very  fact  that  I  give  my  allegiance  to  Virginia  makes 
me  the  more  worthy,  so  far  as  any  man  could  be 
worthy  of  such  a  treasure  " —  he  spoke  in  all  sin 
cerity,  there  was  no  suggestion  of  mockery — "  of 
your  love." 

"  I  do  not  see  it  that  way,"  answered  the  girl. 
"  You  have  lived  in  the  North  for  years.  I  have  often 
heard  you  say  you  believed  in  manumitting  your 
slaves." 


12  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  I  tell  you  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  We 
would  have  maintained  the  doctrine  of  State  Rights 
with  any  other  cause  for  its  assertion." 

"  It  has  everything  to  do  with  it  with  me,  for,  as 
you  very  well  know,  if  you  Southerners  would  free 
your  slaves  there  would  be  no  war." 

"  We  cannot,  upon  compulsion,"  said  the  young 
man,  lifting  his  head  with  a  pride  that  matched  her 
own,  "  and  if  you  are  to  make  my  political  principles 
the  cause  of  separation  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  Oh,  you  feel  that  way,  do  you?  "  cried  the  girl, 
who  was  amazingly  quick  of  temper.  "  The  engage 
ment  is  broken  then !  " 

She  tore  from  her  finger  a  ring  and  extended  it  to 
him. 

"  Kathleen,  don't !  "  he  protested,  going  suddenly 
white.  "  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  " 

"  It  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world,"  an 
swered  the  young  woman.  "  I  can't  give  my  love  to 
the  enemy  of  my  country,  to  a  man  who  thinks  so 
little  of  me  that  he  is  willing  to  fight  against  my 
people.  Against  that  flag  yonder !  " 

"  But  you  said  you  loved  me !  " 

"  I  take  it  back,  then  I  " 

"  And  is  yours  a  love  that  can  come  and  go  at 
will?" 

"  It  shall.  Listen  to  me,  Philip.  You  know  that 
George  Manning  is  devoted  to  me.  I  swear  to  you, 
unless  you  giye  me  your  word  that  you  will  not  turn 
traitor  .  .  ." 

"  Kathleen,"  the  man  interrupted  sternly,  "  there 
are  some  things  that  even  you  cannot  say  to  me." 

"What  are  they,  pray?  " 

4  You  shall  not  apply  that  word  '  traitor '  to  me  I 
I  will  not  endure  it !  " 

"  Ypu  are  domineering,  like  the  South !  "  said  the 


ANSWERED  13 

girl  bitterly — but  she  did  not  repeat  the  charge — 
then.  "  You  Southerners  have  always  governed  the 
United  States,"  she  continued,  "  but  you  will  find  now 
that  .  .  ." 

"  That  is  because  we  have  possessed  the  ability, 
the  birth  and  breeding." 

"  You  will  find  out,"  said  Kathleen,  fiercely  re 
sentful,  "  that  the  people  of  the  North  will  decide 
what  is  to  be  done  hereafter.  You  and  all  the  rest 
are  .  .  ." 

What  word  trembled  on  her  lips  ? 

"  Stop !  "  cried  the  man  imperiously. 

"  Will  you  take  that  ring  of  yours  and  leave  me  1  " 
urged  the  woman. 

Poor  Philip !  He  was  angry,  hurt,  surprised,  yet 
he  was  so  overwhelmingly  in  love  with  the  beautiful 
wayward  being  before  him  that  as  he  looked  upon 
her  he  forgot  all  other  things.  He  mounted  the 
steps  to  the  porch  on  which  she  stood  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  her. 

"  Why  should  we  quarrel,  darling?  It  is  most 
foolish.  What  have  our  political  differences  to  do 
with  our  personal  affections?  I  love  you  ,  .  I 
have  to  go  where  honour  calls  me  .  .  I  shall  go 
.  .  but,  saving  my  state,  my  heart  is  yours." 

"I  .  .  I  do  not  understand  such  love.  I  do 
not  care  for  it!  I  won't  marry  you  .  . ." 

"  Is  this  the  quality  of  your  affection?  "  ' 

"It  is!" 

"  No  Southern  woman  would  act  so." 

"Go  back  to  one  and  find  out!  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  " 

"  I  do  !    Will  you  take  your  ring?  " 

Grafton  seized  it  and  in  a  passion  threw  it  from 
him.  Kathleen  resisted  a  wild  inclination  to  run  after 
it  and  stood  facing  him,  her  face  flushing,  her  foot 


i4  THE   PATRIOTS 

tapping  the  floor.  He  had  received  his  dismissal,  yet 
he  could  not  go. 

"  Kathleen,"  he  began  again  very  softly. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  more  to  be  said 
between  us,"  she  interrupted. 

"  But,  my  darling — "  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her, 
and  in  spite  of  herself  her  heart  yearned  toward  him, 
he  was  so  handsome,  so  splendid.  Why  couldn't  he 
have  been  on  her  side?  Why  couldn't  she  bring  him 
to  her  way  of  thinking?  Wilful,  wayward,  impe 
rious,  she  would  not  give  up.  She  saw  the  love  burn 
in  his  cheek,  flash  in  his  eye,  tremble  on  his  lip.  He 
could  not  go  away !  She  stepped  nearer  to  him. 

"  Phil,"  she  said,  "  you  needn't  fight  against  the 
South  if  you  stay  here.  But  don't  fight  for  it  against 
the  United  States — and  me.  Just  stay  here  with  me 
to  show  me  and  the  world  how  much  you  love  me. 
I  will  marry  you  to-morrow.  I  can't  let  you  go, 
dear." 

It  was  her  time  to  plead  now,  she  thought.  She 
came  close  to  him.  He  could  see  the  rise  and  fall  of 
her  beautiful  bosom  as  her  arm  stole  around  his 
neck.  Lips  that  he  had  often  pressed  approached  his 
own.  Her  eyes  scanned  his  face  as  if  to  read  his 
heart.  He  closed  his  own  eyes,  his  heart  stopped 
beating.  How  could  he  go,  with  her  in  his  arms 
when  he  loved  her  so !  Then  the  interruption  came 
that  saved  his  honour  and  his  happiness,  although  he 
thought  his  life  was  wrecked  thereby.  A  man,  one 
of  the  servants  of  the  farm,  dashed  into  the  yard  on 
a  reeking  horse.  He  was  shouting  something.  The 
two  parted  instantly  as  he  approached. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Kathleen,  angry  at 
the  untimely  interruption. 

"  We've  been  defeated,"  gasped  out  the  excited 
man.  "  Beauregard  has  licked  McDowell !  Our 


ANSWERED  15 

men  run  like  sheep,  the  Rebels  are  goin*  to  take 
Washington !  The  Union  Army  has  been  cut  to 
pieces  I  They  begun  fightin'  at  noon,  there's  twenty 
thousand  of  our'n  killed!  There  was  two  hundred 
thousand  of  'em  ag'in'  us." 

"What's  that  you  say?"  cried  the  woman,  her 
face  pale  at  the  news. 

"  It's  true,  Miss  Kirkwood.  The  town's  full  of 
it!  They're  postin'  bulletins  at  the  telegraph  office. 
Here's  a  message  for  you.  It's  from  Washington, 
from  your  brother,  the  operator  sez." 

Kathleen  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers. 

"  It's  from  Burt !  "  she  cried.  "  His  regiment  has 
reached  Washington.  He  says  there  has  been  a 
dreadful  battle  and  we  have  been  defeated." 

"  Great  heaven !  "  exclaimed  Grafton.  "  Already?  " 

"  There's  a  message  for  you,"  said  the  girl,  read 
ing:  "'Tell  G if  he  doesn't  wish  to  be  de 
tained  he  must  go  home  immediately.  It's  rumoured 
that  all  passes  have  been  revoked.' ' 

She  looked  up  as  she  spoke.  In  spite  of  himself 
there  was  a  look  of  exultation  in  Grafton's  face.  The 
first  blow  had  been  struck,  the  Yankees  had  been  de 
feated!  They  had  run  like  cowards,  the  man  had 
said  so.  Well,  the  victory  was  to  be  expected.  No 
wonder  that  the  ghost  of  a  smile  flickered  about 
Grafton's  mouth,  that  a  glint  of  triumph  could  be 
seen  in  his  eye.  It  was  the  last  straw  to  the  woman. 
Nervously  she  clutched  the  telegram  in  her  hand.  No, 
she  would  not  speak  while  there  were  observers. 

"Take  the  horse  around  to  the  stable,"  she 
ordered  the  man,  "  and  when  you  have  had  supper 
go  down  town  and  bring  me  more  news." 

The  man  turned  eagerly  to  tell  the  news  elsewhere 
and  disappeared.  Then  she  turned  and  faced  Graf- 
ton. 


1 6  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  You  laughed,"  she  said  with  pardonable  exag 
geration;  "you  gloated  over  this  defeat,  over  me! 
Shame!" 

"  Kathleen,"  began  Grafton,  heartily  ashamed  of 
himself  to  think  that  he  had  allowed  his  expressive 
face  to  declare  his  feelings  to  his  sweetheart's  hurt. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me !  I  never  wish  to  hear  your 
voice,  to  see  your  face  again !  I  never  shall !  " 

"  But  you  love     .     .     ." 

"  Do  not  mention  that  word  to  me !  I  hate  you.  . 
I  despise  you !  You  have  had  your  message,"  she 
continued  pale  with  anger  and  scorn,  flinging  the  tele 
gram  at  him.  "  Go  !  " 

"  Is  this  your  final  word?  " 

"My  final  word!" 

"  You  can  say  that  after  what  we  have  been  to 
each  other?  A  moment  ago  you  were  in  my  arms, 
your  lips  ready  .  .  ." 

4  You  insult  me  in  the  remembrance !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  despise  you !  I  hate  you !  I  tear  you  out  of  my 
heart  as  you  have  torn  yours  out  of  your  country ! " 

She  ,was  wild  with  passion.  Her  lips  curled  in  con 
tempt,  and  still  she  was  beautiful,  and  still  Grafton 
loved  her !  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak  again;  she 
raised  her  hand  and  pointed  to  the  gate. 

"  It  is  over,  then,"  said  the  man;  "  your  love  is  a 
thing  that  comes  and  goes  with  the  seasons.  You 
hate  me,  you  say.  I  wish  to  God  I  could  reciprocate 
that  feeling !  " 

He  turned  without  another  word,  and  ran  down 
the  path.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  walk.  He 
threw  himself  upon  the  horse  and  galloped  away, 
rage,  indignation,  and  overwhelming  affection  fight 
ing  a  battle  in  his  soul.  Left  on  the  porch  the  girl 
watched  him  go.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him, 
she  took  a  step  down  to  the  walk.  Then  she  stopped. 


ANSWERED  17 

No,  he  had  made  his  choice!  His  love  had  proved 
unequal  to  the  test.  She  hated  him,  she  despised  him  ! 
She  turned  and  went  into  the  library.  There  on  her 
desk  lay  a  letter  received  that  morning,  a  letter  from 
a  gallant  young  soldier  who  wore  the  blue.  She 
seized  a  sheet  of  paper,  wrote  half  a  dozen  lines,  en 
veloped  it,  addressed  it,  sealed  it,  stamped  it,  went 
out  into  the  hall,  thrust  it  into  the  hands  of  one  of  the 
servants,  ordering  it  to  be  posted  at  once,  and  then, 
returning  to  the  deserted  library,  sank  down  before 
the  desk  again,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  II 

GOD  SAVE  THE  UNITED  STATES 

THEY  made  a  pretty  picture,  those  two. 

The  white-haired  old  man  sat  in  a  large  easy  chair 
which  had  been  especially  designed  for  his  comfort. 
For  many  years  he  had  been  without  the  use  of  his 
lower  limbs  and  a  light  coverlet  of  silk  was  spread 
over  them.  His  handsome  and  intellectual  old  face 
was  clean-shaven,  his  long  hair,  white  as  the  infre 
quent  snows  of  his  native  land,  fell  in  waves  that 
were  almost  curls  upon  his  still  broad  shoulders.  Age 
had  dimmed  the  sight  of  his  eyes,  but  they  could  still 
flash  with  the  soft  wavering  light  of  crowning  years, 
like  a  far-off  vanishing  storm  upon  a  summer  night. 
His  thin  aristocratic  hands  lay  listless  upon  his  mo 
tionless  knees.  There  was  a  troubled  look  on  his  face 
which  ill-accorded  with  the  beautiful,  peaceful  scene 
spread  before  his  fading  vision. 

By  his  side  stood  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl,  pale  of  face, 
dark  of  hair,  slight  of  figure — an  undeveloped  child 
who  had  just  passed  her  sixteenth  birthday.  The 
lines  of  her  face  and  form  were  full  of  promise,  but 
the  realisation  would  be  long  deferred.  This  was 
singular,  for  in  the  sunshine  of  that  Southland  the 
flowers  blossomed  early,  and  most  things  that  were 
beautiful — including  the  young  women — matured 
early.  Girls  frequently  were  married  at  sixteen,  at 
seventeen  they  were  mothers,  and  in  those  terrible 
days  of  war  some  of  them  became  widows  while  they 
were  yet  scarcely  more  than  children. 

It  was  not  so  with  Ariadne  Lewis.  Perhaps  some 

18 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED   STATES     19 

quality  of  her  French  great-grandmother,  Anne  de 
Rohan,  which  she  had  received  along  with  her  some 
what  whimsical  name  from  that  famous  Breton 
woman,  had  retarded  her  development,  so  that  when 
others  of  her  sex  were  women  she  was  as  yet  only  a 
child.  Child  or  not,  she  was  nevertheless  the  main 
dependence  and  the  sole  comfort  of  her  grandfather, 
the  Judge.  So  far  as  nature  permitted  she  supplied 
the  place  of  his  wasted  limbs;  and  if  she  were  slender 
and  thin,  it  may  be  that  her  assiduity  in  promoting 
the  old  man's  comfort,  her  constant  and  unstinted 
care  for  him,  had  contributed  to  that  result. 

Mentally  the  girl  was  far  in  advance  of  her  day 
and  generation.  Continuous  contact  with  a  mind 
so  richly  furnished  as  that  of  her  grandfather  had 
brought  her  in  touch  with  stores  of  unwonted  learning. 
The  astute  observations  of  the  wise  old  man  of  the 
world  had  sharpened  her  native  wit  until,  though  a 
child  in  body,  she  had  become  a  woman  in  knowledge 
— a  woman  in  knowledge  of  all  those  things  her 
grandfather  could  teach  her,  but  lacking  all  sorts  of  in 
formation  peculiar  to  her  sex  which  is  instinctive  in 
womankind  and  which  was  latent  in  her,  could  she 
have  had  a  mother,  or  even  a  friend,  to  call  it  forth. 

Judge  Lewis  and  his  granddaughter  lived  alone  on 
the  old  plantation.  A  proud  man  had  been  the  old 
Judge  and  a  great  part  had  he  played  in  the  history 
of  his  native  state  and  his  country.  A  wild  spirit  of 
adventure  moving  him,  in  the  War  of  1812  he  had 
attached  himself  to  the  fortunes  of  that  brave  back 
woods  preux  chevalier,  Andrew  Jackson,  and  with 
the  bold  Tennesseans  and  Kentuckians  and  the  dapper 
Creoles  he  had  stood  behind  the  mud  walls  below 
New  Orleans  and  watched  the  British  power  wither 
before  the  rifle  blasts  of  the  men  of  the  forest  glades. 

Resigning  from  the  army  in  the  piping  times  of 


20  THE   PATRIOTS 

peace,  he  had  followed  the  law  and  had  been  called 
to  the  bench.  Thereafter  he  had  been  sent  to  Con 
gress  and  then  he  had  been  elected  and  re-elected 
again  and  again  a  Senator  of  the  United  States  from 
[Virginia.  He  had  ever  remained,  in  Washington  and 
out  of  it,  the  friend  of  the  great  Tennessean  soldier, 
who,  like  the  Judge  himself,  was  one  of  the  finest 
gentlemen  of  his  time.  When  in  1832  South  Caro 
lina  passed  her  famous  Ordinance  of  Nullification, 
Judge  Lewis  had  been  one  of  the  chief  upholders  of 
Jackson's  determined  and  brilliant  policy. 

He  could  have  been  re-elected  to  the  Senate  until 
he  died  had  not  a  paralytic  stroke  cut  him  down  some 
ten  years  since.  Thereafter,  in  a  pride  which  was 
natural  if  somewhat  foolish,  he  had  withdrawn  from 
all  participation  in  the  affairs  of  men  and  had  buried 
himself  with  his  little  granddaughter  at  Vallewis,  his 
ancestral  plantation  on  the  James  River,  a  few  miles 
below  Richmond.  For  a  time  his  contemporaries  had 
sought  him  for  comfort  or  counsel,  but  presently  a 
new  generation  which  knew  not  Joseph  arose,  and  in 
his  retirement  he  was  left  as  he  desired,  unvexed  by 
the  intrusion  of  strangers  or  unharassed  by  the  visit 
of  friend. 

Had  Richard  Lewis,  his  only  son,  lived,  it  would 
all  have  been  different  of  course.  His  boy's  body  lay 
beneath  the  frowning  cliffs  of  Chapultepec.  "  Bury 
him  on  the  field  which  he  honoured  with  his  life's 
blood,"  had  been  the  Judge's  reply  to  those  who  sug 
gested  bringing  him  home,  and  there  his  comrades  of 
Scott's  army  had  left  him — the  corpse  of  an  enemy 
in  a  foreign  land,  alone,  forgotten  by  all  but  the 
Judge  himself  and  some  few  of  his  comrades  who 
sometimes  gave  backward  thoughts  to  the  wars  of  the 
past  in  the  threatening  conditions  which  were  rapidly 
developing  then. 


GOD  SAVE  THE  UNITED  STATES     21 

There  was  another  grave  near  the  little  chapel  on 
the  slope  of  the  hill  facing  the  river.  Ariadne's 
mother  lay  there.  Two  thousand  leagues  of  hill 
and  valley,  of  plain  and  mountain,  parted  all  that  was 
left  of  her  from  all  that  was  left  of  the  man  she  had 
loved,  whose  daughter  she  had  given  birth  to  ere  she 
died  of  heartbreak  at  the  news  from  the  far-off  field 
of  battle.  But  in  the  sight  of  Him  to  whom  a  thou 
sand  years  are  but  as  a  watch  in  the  night,  as  yester 
day  when  it  is  past,  there  is  no  distance,  and  before 
God  the  souls  of  Captain  Richard  Lewis  and  Ariadne 
his  wife  met  and  clasped  hands  in  joy  unspeakable. 

The  little  girl  often  went  alone  to  the  low  grave 
marked  with  its  plain  white  stone — an  unostentatious 
race,  these  Lewises — and  sat  down  on  the  green  turf 
and  stared  out  across  the  sparkling  waters  of  the 
placid  river.  She  dreamed  of  the  young  soldier  in 
that  tropic  land,  of  her  mother  lying  at  her  feet,  of 
the  two  who  were  parted  for  a  little  space  and  united 
for  eternity.  But  flowers  blossomed,  as  they  e'en  will 
do,  about  the  grave  before  her  and  over  the  grave 
'neath  the  shadow  of  the  great  Aztec  rock,  and  the 
reveries  of  the  child  were  sweet,  not  sad.  Sweet  it 
is  to  think  that  the  dust  that  returns  to  the  earth  some 
day  becomes  the  frond  of  the  flower — from  death, 
life,  and  that  life  everlasting. 

Her  father's  and  her  mother's  portraits  hung  side 
by  side  in  the  drawing-room.  Ariadne  often  stood 
at  gaze  before  them  and  wondered  if  she  would  ever 
be  as  beautiful  as  the  face  of  the  young  woman- — 
scarcely  more  than  a  girl  indeed — that  smiled  down 
at  her  from  the  dusky  background  of  the  fading  can 
vas.  She  dreamed,  too,  of  a  lover,  who  should  be  a 
brave  and  gallant  soldier  like  her  father;  a  lover  who 
was  to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country,  but  who  should 
not,  like  him,  fall  at  the  head  of  a  charging  column. 


22  THE   PATRIOTS 

No;  full  of  honours  and  quick  with  life  he  was  to  come 
back  and  claim  her,  and  even — but  the  man  she  really 
loved  with  all  the  strength  of  her  youthful  heart  was 
not  a  soldier  at  all  1  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  some  de 
clared  him  to  be  a  recreant,  because  he  delayed  the 
proffer  of  his  services  to  his  state.  While  thousands 
of  her  best  people  were  already  in  arms  he  had 
lingered  in  the  North,  that  North  that  Ariadne  in 
a  blind  unreasoning,  totally  feminine,  as  well  as  en 
tirely  youthful  way,  was  growing  to  hate  with  an 
inveteracy  which  should  have  bespoke  a  better  cause 
for  animosity.  And  Ariadne  despised  when  she  hated. 
Had  not  the  craven  Yankees  run  like  sheep  before 
the  dashing  attacks  of  Beauregard's  brave  young 
Southerners  through  all  the  long  July  afternoon  but 
yesterday  at  Manassas — and  her  lover  was  not  there 
with  the  young  manhood  of  the  state  I 

However,  Ariadne  did  not  question  the  young  law 
yer's  patriotism  on  that  account,  not  she.  She  trusted 
like  youth,  naturally;  she  dreamed  like  youth,  abso 
lutely;  and  she  hoped  like  youth,  without  a  doubt, 
without  a  reservation.  She  knew  why  he  had  delayed, 
or  if  she  did  not,  he  would  explain  it  all,  for  he  was 
coming  back  to-day !  A  servant  had  galloped  up  to 
the  great  house  by  the  river  road  that  morning  with 
a  note  for  the  old  Judge  in  which  the  writer  said  that 
he  had  at  last  reached  Richmond,  and  that  after  he 
had  attended  to  some  necessary  business  in  the  city 
he  would  be  with  them  ere  the  night  fell. 

The  Judge's  race  was  nearly  run.  Had  the  times 
been  peaceful  he  might  have  lingered  on  long  past 
three-score-and-ten  years,  but  his  heart  had  been  rent 
and  torn  within  him  by  the  events  of  the  past  year, 
even  as  the  Union  for  which  he  had  fought  had  been 
rent  and  torn.  In  the  last  analysis  Judge  Lewis  was 
for  the  state  as  against  the  United  States.  That  is 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED    STATES     23 

not  saying  that  he  viewed  the  severance  of  relations 
between  the  grand  old  Dominion  between  the  Chesa 
peake  and  the  mountains  and  the  greater  Dominion 
that  extended  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  with 
equanimity  or  satisfaction. 

Virginia  neither  desired  nor  countenanced  Secession. 
The  hot-headed  impulsiveness  of  South  Carolina  was 
not  reflected  by  the  great  calm  state  which  had  given 
Washington  to  the  land  and  was  soon  to  give  Lee  as 
evidence  of  the  quality  of  her  manhood.  But  when 
armed  foot  was  set  upon  her  soil  and  she  was  re 
quired  to  choose  between  fighting  against  and  fighting 
with  the  wayward  sisters  that  lay  beyond  her  borders 
to  the  South,  her  decision  was  certain.  There  was 
only  one  course  she  could  pursue. 

It  was  pain  and  grief  to  the  old  man,  as  it  was  to 
many  another  true-hearted  patriot,  when  Virginia, 
which  had  been  its  mother,  as  it  were,  went  out  of  the 
Union.  Sadly,  sadly,  with  eyes  that  did  not  flash,  but 
that  brimmed  with  tears,  he  saw  the  slender  hands  of 
Ariadne  strike  the  flag  of  the  United  States  from  the 
staff  from  which  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  by  his  orders, 
it  had  ever  fluttered.  Mistily  he  saw  her  while  she 
hoisted  in  its  place  the  new  flag  to  which  he  was 
almost  too  old  to  give  allegiance. 

New  things  are  for  youth.  Ariadne  had  not  fought 
for  that  flag  as  he  had,  she  had  not  poured  out  her 
life  blood  for  that  flag  as  her  father  did;  she  had  not 
seen  it  grow  star  by  star  until  it  had  become  the  most 
glorious  constellation  in  the  heraldry  of  the  heavens. 
Old  Aza,  the  Judge's  body  servant,  who  had  been 
Ariadne's  father's  man  also  in  Mexico,  usually  hoisted 
and  lowered  the  flag,  but  on  that  day  that  it  had  come 
down  for  the  last  time  Ariadne  herself  insisted  upon 
striking  it,  and  her  own  self  hauled  the  flag  which  she 
with  the  assistance  of  Aunt  Dessy,  her  black  old 


24  THE   PATRIOTS 

mammy,  had  made,  to  the  top  of  the  tall  staff.  It  was 
the  twitch  of  her  vigorous  young  arm — she  was  a 
wiry  little  body,  strong,  if  slight — which  had  shaken 
it  out  to  the  breeze  before  the  audience  of  wondering 
and  amused  slaves,  who  clapped  their  hands  and 
cheered  delightedly,  not  discerning  what  either  ban 
ner  meant  to  them.  Ignorance  knows  no  standard 
and  is  indifferent  to  its  flag. 

Yet  the  triumphant  Ariadne  was  sorry  after  it  was 
all  over  when  she  saw  the  stricken  look  and  noted  the 
despairful  gesture  with  which  the  old  man  covered 
his  white  face  with  his  whiter  hand.  Had  he  been 
in  power  he  could  have  done  no  other  than  as  his 
friends  and  successors  in  the  state  had  done,  yet  the 
doing  of  it  broke  his  heart. 

Ariadne  had  become  suddenly  fearful  lest  the  ex 
pected  guest  would  not  arrive  in  time  to  see  her  grand 
father  again.  When  the  letter  came  that  morning  the 
Judge  had  revived  marvellously.  He  had  insisted 
upon  being  dressed  for  the  first  time  in  months,  after 
dinner,  and  they  had  brought  him  out  upon  the  broad 
gallery  surrounding  the  old  Colonial  house.  There 
through  the  fading  hours  of  the  long  afternoon  his 
eye  had  wandered  from  field  to  copse,  from  copse  to 
river.  It  was  the  home  of  his  ancestors,  the  home  of 
his  boyhood,  soon  to  be  his  no  more.  Many  and  broad 
were  its  acres,  happy  and  joyous  its  slaves.  Con 
tentment  and  the  peace  of  fruitful  summer  were  there. 

But  generally,  with  an  eagerness  so  great  as  to  be 
painfully  obvious  even  to  the  girl  by  his  side,  the 
Judge  would  turn  from  the  fields  and  woodlands,  in 
which  he  had  played  as  a  child,  to  search  the  winding 
river  road.  Anticipation  gave  him  a  certain  fictitious 
strength,  or  the  appearance  of  it;  excitement  lent  to 
his  pale  cheek  a  touch  of  colour  which  wavered  like 
the  rosy  glow  that  fitfully  comes  from  a  dying  fire  on 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED   STATES     25 

a  midnight  hearth,  as  he  saw  away  down  the  road  a 
far-off  moving  figure.  It  had  been  visible  to  the  girl 
for  some  time.  She  was  keen-eyed,  but  she  had  said 
nothing  lest  she  raise  false  hopes.  The  Judge  shaded 
his  brows  with  his  hand  and  looked. 

"  My  child,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  silvery  sweet 
ness,  which,  when  it  had  been  strong  with  virile  power 
had  charmed  his  friends  and  even  awakened  the  ad 
miration  and,  what  was  more  important,  commanded 
the  silence,  of  his  enemies,  when  he  had  spoken :  "  My 
child,  is  not  that  he,  yon  horseman?  " 

"  Yes,  Grandfather,"  answered  the  girl  in  the  soft 
tones  of  the  Southern  woman. 

Her  voice  had  a  contralto  note  in  it,  scarcely  ma 
tured  as  yet,  like  her  person,  but  surprising  in  its  ful 
ness  and  its  sweetness — a  reflex  of  the  old  "  man's 
speech  but  tempered  by  her  gentler  sex.  It  always 
startled  the  Judge  when  he  heard  it  suddenly  after  a 
little  silence,  it  was  so  like  that  of  his  wife.  He  had 
married  while  still  young  Ariadne  de  Rohan  Grafton. 
Her  grandmother  had  been  of  a  noble  house  in  Brit 
tany.  She  had  been  wooed  and  won  in  Colonial  days 
by  a  young  American  sailor  named  Philip  Grafton, 
who  had  brought  her  to  Virginia  and  had  founded  a 
numerous  race  of  brave  men  and  beautiful  women. 

"  And  do  you  think,"  continued  the  old  man  after 
a  little  pause  staring  at  the  rapidly  approaching  figure, 
"that  it  is  he?" 

"  It  is  Philip,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

With  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction  the  Judge  sank 
back  in  his  chair  and  together  the  two  watched  the 
coming  horseman.  They  saw  him  easily  and  clearly 
against  the  shimmering  background  of  the  river, 
bright  with  the  sunset;  therefore  they  could  make  him 
out  before  he  could  recognise  them  in  the  shadow  of 
the  porch;  but  as  he  drew  nearer  he  discerned  them, 


26  THE   PATRIOTS 

for  they  saw  him  lift  his  hat  and  wave  it  in  the  air. 
Then  they  knew  it  was  he.  The  sound  of  a  faint  cry, 
an  old-fashioned  view  hallo,  came  softly  to  them  in 
the  still  evening  air.  Old  Aza  heard  it,  too,  as  he 
came  around  the  corner  of  the  house  at  that  moment. 

"  You  Jeff  1  "  he  called  to  his  son  and  general  fac 
totum,  "  heh  cum  Marse  Phil.  Come  'long  out  heh 
an'  tek  he  horse." 

Not  only  Jeff,  but  the  whole  body  of  negroes  in 
or  about  the  house  responded  to  the  call,  and  when 
the  rider  galloped  up  the  broad  driveway  and  drew 
rein  before  the  long  flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  high 
gallery  he  was  at  once  surrounded  by  a  laughing, 
tumultuous  group  of  black  men  and  women  whose 
white  teeth,  flashing,  indicated,  as  did  their  smiling 
faces  and  approving  shouts,  the  warmth  .of  their  wel 
come.  Grafton  thrust  them  aside  good-naturedly  as 
he  sprang  from  his  horse  with  a  pleasant  word  of 
recognition  here  and  there  which  made  the  objects  of 
his  attention  strut  around  with  pride,  and  then  he  ran 
lightly  up  the  steps. 

Ariadne,  the  excitement  having  brought  a  delicate 
wild  rose  colour  into  her  pale  face,  met  him  at  the  top. 
In  her  freshly  laundered  muslin  frock  very  sweet  and 
pretty  she  looked  to  the  young  man  dusty  from  his 
rapid  ride;  poised  above  him  with  outstretched  hands, 
whether  for  flight  or  welcome,  like  a  little  white  sprite 
or  fairy.  Unthinkingly  he  seized  her,  lifted  her 
slender  person  in  the  air,  held  it  there  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  kissed  her  full  on  the  lips  and  gently 
set  her  down  on  her  feet  again.  He  marked  with 
amused  surprise  the  fierce  flame  of  colour  that  suffused 
her  cheeks,  the  mixture  of  indignation  and  pleasure 
in  the  look  she  threw  upon  him,  and  then  he  turned 
to  the  old  man. 

The  Judge  sat  leaning  far  forward,  his  will  almost 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED   STATES     27 

supplying  him  with  ability  to  rise.  He  reached  out  his 
hands  and  took  both  of  the  young  man's  in  his  own. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  said,  and  the  satisfaction  in  his 
voice  was  as  pathetic  as  the  appeal  in  his  fettered 
attitude.  "  You  have  come  at  last.  I  feared  that  you 
would  be  too  late." 

"  As  fast  as  steam  and  steed  could  bring  me,  sir," 
said  Philip  gently,  "  have  I  come,  sir.  As  soon  as  I 
got  my  diploma  I  left  Boston." 

"  Had  you  trouble  getting  through  the  lines?  " 

"  Not  much,  sir.  General  Scott,  for  Cousin  Dick's 
sake,  gave  me  a  pass." 

"  Philip,"  cried  Ariadne  suddenly,  conscious  of 
what  to  her  was  a  striking  fact,  "  you  have  a  grey 
jacket  on !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man  promptly,  "  I  am  a 
soldier." 

"What!" 

"  Since  this  morning." 

"Cavalry?" 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"Artillery?" 

"  Infantry,"  answered  the  young  man  calmly,  "  a 
high  private  in  the  rear  rank,  you  know." 

"What!"  cried  Ariadne,  scandalised.  "I 
thought  you  would  be  a  general  surely." 

"  We  have  too  many  generals  now,"  said  the 
young  man  gravely,  "  and  what  we  need  are  more 
privates." 

"  But  why  did  you  go  and  be  a  foot-soldier,  you, 
the  best  rider  in  Prince  George  County?  " 

"  Yes,  Philip,"  said  the  Judge,  "  since  we  must 
fight  I  should  prefer  you  to  have  been  a  horseman. 
The  musket  is  well  enough,  but  the  sword  is  ever  the 
gentleman's  weapon." 

"  I,  too,  should  have  preferred  the  cavalry,  sir," 


28  THE   PATRIOTS 

returned  Philip,  "but  General  Lee,  whose  advice  I 
took,  urged  me  to  join  the  infantry.  He  said  that 
all  the  best  young  men  of  the  state  were  crowding 
into  the  cavalry  and  artillery.  The  Richmond  How 
itzers  begged  me  to  come  with  them,  but  I  saw  it  the 
way  the  general  did.  We  need  to  leaven  up  the 
infantry." 

"  But  only  a  private  soldier!  "  cried  Ariadne. 

"  But  I  know  nothing  about  the  art  of  war,"  pro 
tested  Philip. 

"The  art  of  war?"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "I 
thought  every  Southern  gentleman  knew  how  to 
fight." 

''  To  fight,  yes.  But  drill  and  tactics  and  so  on 
are  quite  another  thing." 

"Tactics?  Why  didn't  you  study  them  at 
Boston?" 

"  Yankee  tactics?  "  asked  the  young  man  mis 
chievously. 

"  Any  kind  of  tactics  are  better  than  none,  I  sup 
pose,"  replied  Ariadne,  and  then — "  Philip,  why 
didn't  you  come  here  before?  They  are  saying  all 
sorts  of  things  about  you  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  young  man,  grown  sud 
denly  grave,  "  but  I  felt  it  proper  for  me  to  remain 
at  the  college  until  I  was  graduated  and  had  received 
my  diploma.  It  was  hard  enough,  sir,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  old  man;  "  God  knows  I  wanted  to 
be  the  first  to  enlist  for  old  Virginia.  But  I  knew 
there  would  be  plenty  of  time,  and  I  could  not  waste 
the  work  of  those  six  years.  I  wanted  that 
sheepskin." 

"  And  you  were  right,"  said  the  Judge  em 
phatically. 

"  A  Yankee  diploma  from  an  abolition  college !  " 
interrupted  Ariadne  scornfully. 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED   STATES    29 

"  Learning  is  learning,  North  or  South,"  replied 
Philip.  "  Harvard  did  not  affect  my  principles  one 
way  or  the  other." 

"  Oh,  if  you  had  only  studied  war,  too,  and  .  .  ." 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  returned  Philip,  in  a  pat 
ronising,  jesting  manner  which  always  infuriated 
Ariadne,  "  I  was  too  busy  studying  law  for  anything 
else  then  .  .  now  it  is  different.  I  shall  begin 
to  prepare  for  a  general's  commission  at  once." 

"  There  is  no  nobler  profession  than  that  of  law, 
my  child,"  interposed  the  old  Judge,  just  in  time  to 
check  an  angry  response  from  the  young  girl.  "  In 
the  end  the  scales  of  justice  weigh  the  world,  and  the 
law  is  justice.  Philip  did  well  to  make  sure  of  his 
diploma.  I  should  have  grieved  if  he  had  not 
secured  it,  as  we  all  did.  Yet  I  am  loath  to  see  him 
serve  in  the  army  in  so  humble  a  capacity,  where  his 
fathers  have  led." 

"  Sir,  said  the  young  man,  with  sudden  gravity, 
"  as  General  Lee  says,  it  will  be  a  long  war.  Those 
who  learn  in  its  hard  school  will  have  opportunity 
to  show  what  they  can  do  before  it  is  ended." 

"  A  long  war?  "  cried  the  girl;  "  why,  we'll  sweep 
those  Yankees  into  the  sea  in  three  months!  Mr. 
Toombs  says  he  is  going  to  call  the  roll  of  his  slaves 
from  the  foot  of  Bunker  Hill.  I  read  it  myself  the 
other  day  in  the  Examiner." 

"  That  is  foolish  talk,  Ariadne,"  said  the  Judge, 
with  a  reproving  shake  of  the  head,  "  and  I  told 
you  so  when  you  read  it  to  me." 

"It  is  indeed,  sir,"  assented  Grafton;  "I  have 
come  from  the  North,  and  I  know." 

"  And  what  is  the  spirit  there?  "  questioned  the  old 
man. 

"  As  strong  as  it  is  here,"  answered  Philip 
promptly.  "  There  is  as  much  enthusiasm  in  Boston 


30  THE   PATRIOTS 

as  there  is  in  Richmond.  I  never  saw  finer  troops 
than  some  of  the  regiments  that  have  been  mustered 
into  the  Federal  forces  there.  The  Six  Massachu 
setts  is  a  stunning  body  of  men;  and  so  are  the 
Pennsylvania  troops.  Burt  Kirkwood  is  a  lieutenant 
in  one  of  those  regiments." 

"Burt  Kirkwood?"  said  Ariadne,  "your  college 
chum?" 

"  Yes.  We  graduated  together  and  bade  each 
other  good-bye  immediately.  George  Manning  .  . 
I  have  often  written  about  him,  you  know " — 
Ariadne  nodded — "  he's  in  a  Massachusetts  regiment 
.  they're  all  right,  too.  We  three  fellows  were 
the  best  of  friends  at  college  .  .  the  insepara 
bles,  they  called  us." 

"  But  one  Southerner,  you  know,"  interrupted  the 
girl,  "  can  whip  five  Yankees." 

There  was  no  amusement  in  her  manner.  This 
extraordinary  statement  was  not  badinage,  for 
Ariadne  and  most  of  the  women  and  many  of  the 
men  of  the  South  fully  believed  that  what  she  had 
said  was  quite  true,  only  the  odds  were  frequently 
longer. 

"  Not  three  like  Burt  or  George,"  answered  Philip 
quietly.  He  knew  the  absurdity  of  that  claim,  which 
nevertheless  may  have  served  some  good  purpose, 
since  it  created  a  confidence  that  is  sometimes  a 
precursor  of  success.  "  No,  dear,  we're  going  to 
have  our  hands  full." 

"  But  we  will  win,  of  course;  we  must  win,"  said 
Ariadne. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  we  shall,"  answered  Philip,  with 
equal  confidence. 

''  With  a  just  cause  and  the  favour  of  Heaven,  we 

cannot  fail,"  said  the  old  man    softly    and    sadly. 

'  Yet  I  wish  there  was  some  other  way.     I  dread 


GOD   SAVE   THE    UNITED   STATES    31 

the  appeal  to  arms.  I  wish  we  could  be  let  alone. 
Do  you  think  there  is  any  possibility?  " 

"  None  whatever,  sir.  They  say  in  the  North  that 
we  shall  not  leave  the  Union." 

"  But  we  have  left  it/'  said  the  Judge. 

'  Then  they  will  force  us  back  into  it." 

"Never,  never!"  exclaimed  Ariadne,  full  of  in 
dignant  protest. 

"  Not  while  we  have  a  man  alive  to  be  influenced 
by  such  spirit  as  yours,  my  dear  child,"  said  Philip, 
smiling. 

"  Phil  Grafton,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  a 
child!  "  vehemently  cried  Ariadne,  her  indignation 
finding  another  object  upon  which  to  spend  itself  be 
sides  the  Yankees.  "  I'm  sixteen  years  old  and  Mamie 
Dylett  " — pointing  to  an  adjoining  plantation — 
"  was  married  from  that  house  day  before  yester 
day  to  Mr.  John  Oakley.  And,  by  the  way,  he's  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Ninth  Infantry." 

"  My  regiment,"  interrupted  Grafton  pleasantly. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  him  to  make  you  behave  your 
self,"  continued  the  girl,  not  in  the  least  mollified  by 
his  good-humour.  u  And  Mamie  Dylett's  only  past 
seventeen." 

"  And  are  you  contemplating  matrimony,  Miss 
Lewis?"  rejoined  the  vastly  amused  Grafton.  In 
deed,  the  idea  was  so  utterly  incongruous  with  the 
immature  little  figure  standing  so  dauntlessly  erect 
before  him  that  first  he  smiled,  then  he  laughed.  ^ 

"  Of  course  not!  But  I'm  old  enough  to  be,  sir, 
and  I'd  have  you  to  know  .  .  ." 

"  Skuse  me,  gent'mum  an'  Miss  Adny,"  said  old 
Aza  at  that  moment,  coming  out  on  the  gallery  with 
a  huge  tray  uplifted  on  his  black  hands  in  a  most 
stately  manner.  The  salver  bore  two  tall  glasses 
looking  somewhat  lonely  on  the  vast  expanse  of  silver. 


3*  THE   PATRIOTS 

In  them  ice  twinkled  alluringly  and  the  light  was  re 
flected  from  green  leaves  from  which  a  delicious 
fragrance  of  mint  was  diffused.  There  was  a  third 
glass  of  the  paler  hue  of  lemon,  which  was  for  Ari 
adne.  It  was  a  most  fortunate  entrance  and  inter 
ruption.  "  I  reckoned  dat  Marse  Phil'd  be  thirsty 
fum  he  long  ride  down  de  ribbah  road,  an'  I  knowed 
't  was  'bout  time  fer  yer  ebenin'  s'lute,  suh,"  con 
tinued  the  old  darkey,  proffering  the  glasses. 

The  sun  had  just  dipped  beyond  the  house  to  the 
west.  Thomas  Jefferson  was  already  fumbling  at 
the  halliards  at  the  foot  of  the  flagstaff.  The  Judge 
lifted  his  glass,  Ariadne  took  her  glass  of  lemonade, 
Philip  the  other  julep,  and  the  two  young  people 
stood  very  straight  as  the  flag  came  slowly  down. 
Jeff,  with  that  instinctive  appreciation  of  the  beau 
tiful  and  picturesque  common  to  his  race,  lowered 
it  so  slowly  that  he  seemed  to  give  a  touch  of  grace, 
of  romance  almost,  to  the  fall  of  the  flag,  as  it 
floated,  wavered  and  at  last  settled  softly,  like  a 
great  bird,  in  the  dying  wind  on  the  grass  below 
them. 

"  Let  me  give  a  toast,"  said  Ariadne  impulsively, 
as  they  watched  its  gentle  descent. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  Judge,  bowing  acquiescently 
toward  the  little  figure. 

"  Happiness  and  prosperity  to  Virginia  and  the 
Southern  Confederacy!  "  said  Ariadne. 

"  I  drink  deep  to  that,"  Philip  promptly  joined  in. 

"  Virginia,"  said  the  old  man,  his  glance  sweep 
ing  the  prospect  before  them,  "  home  of  my  boy 
hood,  land  of  my  fathers,  rest  of  my  old  age,  much 
prosperity  to  thee  .  .  happiness  .  .  yes  .  ." 
He  hesitated.  Two  tears  trickled  softly  down  his 
cheeks.  "God  save  the  United  States!"  he  mut 
tered  as  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 


CHAPTER    III 

TOR  ARIADNE'S  SAKE 

THE  young  men  and  young  women  of  Virginia  were 
eager  for  war  with  the  United  States.  Older  men  like 
Judge  Lewis  and  others,  who  had  seen  war,  thought 
differently.  There  were  also  a  few  young  men  like 
Grafton,  who  were  familiar  with  the  state  of  feeling 
in  the  North,  who  realised  that  the  struggle  was  not 
to  be  that  holiday  excursion,  that  mere  military 
promenade  by  the  Southern  armies,  which  those  less 
well-informed  fancied  would  take  place.  Conse 
quently  the  younger  man  shared  the  old  man's  sad 
ness  as  they  together  watched  the  falling  flag. 
Blood  was  to  be  poured  out  like  water,  money  was 
to  be  spent  without  stint,  all  that  heroic  courage,  en 
tire  consecration,  absolute  devotion,  coupled  with 
talent  and  ability  of  the  highest  order,  could  do, 
would  be  done  to  keep  up  that  flag.  Men  and 
women,  grandsires  and  matrons,  youths  and  maidens, 
were  to  live  to  serve  it  and  love  to  die  for  it — in 
vain.  In  the  end  it  was  to  fall  softly  upon  the  grass 
of  the  war-blasted  land — its  pall — and  remain  only 
a  deathless  memory  in  Southern  hearts. 

There  was  no  premonition  of  that  then.  Believ 
ing  fondly  as  they  did  in  the  justice  of  their  cause  and 
convinced  that  right  must  and  would  prevail,  they 
had  no  doubt  that  as  surely  as  men  in  the  end  must 
observe  the  law,  so  in  the  end  the  might  of  God, 
acting  through  the  power  of  man,  would  enable  them 
to  achieve  their  desires. 

With  the  setting  of  the  sun  a  breeze  sprang  sharply 

33 


34  THE   PATRIOTS 

from  the  river.  There  was  a  little  chill  touch  in 
its  breath  across  the  steel-grey  waters.  They  must 
take  the  old  man  in.  As  he  looked  upon  him,  Grafton 
realised  how  tenuous  was  his  hold  on  life.  In  the 
twilight,  with  the  glow  of  the  sun  off  his  face  and 
the  surprise  and  excitement  of  Philip's  arrival  gone, 
he  looked  very  old,  wasted  and  broken.  A  great 
tenderness  filled  the  heart  of  the  young  man,  not 
only  for  the  old  friend  of  his  boyhood,  but  for 
Ariadne.  Hers  was  a  beauty  that  required  light  at 
that  stage  of  its  development.  In  the  half-shadow 
she  seemed  thinner,  frailer,  softer,  than  before — 
as  if,  wraith-like,  she  would  vanish  away. 

They  were  alone  on  the  porch,  in  the  twilight,  in 
the  world,  those  three.  The  ancient  family  of  Lewis 
was  reduced  to  Ariadne,  and  the  equally  old  race 
of  Grafton  to  Philip.  One  of  those  slender  blood 
connections  of  which  the  South  makes  much  existed 
between  the  two  families.  Philip's  great-grandfather 
had  been  an  uncle  to  the  Judge's  wife.  He  and 
Ariadne,  therefore,  were  cousins  very  far  removed. 
Grafton  had  a  small  plantation,  Braeside,  adjoining 
Vallewis,  opposite  South  Acres,  the  Dylett  place, 
whence  Philip's  boyhood  friend,  Oakley,  had  just 
taken  a  bride.  Grafton  had  never  lived  on  the  place, 
however.  Ever  since  his  father  died,  bequeathing 
him  to  the  Judge,  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  Vallewis. 
He  was  a  small  boy  of  seven  when  Ariadne  was  born, 
and  he  knew  the  whole  history  of  her  life,  therefore; 
a  simple,  innocent,  uneventful  story  it  was,  holding 
absolutely  no  promise  of  its  dramatic  future. 

Philip  was  very  fond  of  Ariadne.  For  a  long  time 
she  had  held  undisputed  the  first  place  in  his  heart, 
but  within  the  last  two  years,  at  least  since  he  had 
met  Kathleen  Kirkwood,  Ariadne  had  taken  second 
place.  Philip,  indeed,  loved  her,  but  his  affection  was 


FOR   ARIADNE'S   SAKE  35 

that  of  a  brother  for  a  younger  sister.  On  her  part 
Ariadne  had  always  loved  Philip.  He  represented  to 
her  the  beau  ideal  of  everything  in  humanity,  in 
masculine  humanity,  that  is.  It  was  but  a  childish 
heart  that  beat  beneath  that  immature  breast,  but  in 
it  were  latent  and  nascent  the  fires  of  a  woman's 
passion.  She  dreamed  of  him.  She  stared  long  at 
his  picture.  She  treasured  his  letters.  It  was  all 
childlike  and  innocent  now,  but  unless  it  were  checked 
some  day  it  would  overwhelm  her.  The  current  of 
her  being  was  like  a  wavering  tide,  but  when  it  should 
settle  it  would  go  with  the  force  of  a  flooding  sea 
toward  him,  and,  unlike  the  tide,  there  would  be  no 
ebb  to  that  mighty  flow. 

Philip  was  entirely  unconscious  of  this  feeling  on 
the  part  of  Ariadne.  His  heart  had  been  heavy 
within  him  all  the  way  from  Pennsylvania.  He  saw 
Kathleen  Kirkwood  still  on  his  soul's  horizon.  In 
the  separation  which,  like  distance  to  the  view,  some 
times  lends  enchantment  to  the  recollection,  her 
beauty  was  enhanced,  her  charm  intensified,  while 
with  each  receding  mile  the  sting  of  her  bitter  words 
lost  force.  She  could  not  mean  what  she  had  said; 
that  last  cruel  decision  should  not  stand  as  the  final 
one  between  them.  Yet  his  hope  was  but  a  faint 
one.  He  had  enlisted  in  Richmond  that  morning  in 
a  mood  full  of  desperation.  He  would  have  enlisted 
in  any  event,  of  course,  but  not  in  that  way.  He  had 
felt  that  he  had  nothing  left  to  love  but  Virginia; 
as  if  now  that  Kathleen  had  sent  him  off  the  sooner 
he  laid  down  his  life  for  his  land  the  better;  but  as 
he  stood  on  the  gallery  beside  the  feeble  old  man 
there  came  across  him  suddenly,  with  the  force  of  a 
blow,  that  the  Judge's  time  was  over  and  that  he 
must  live  for  Ariadne. 

They  carried  the  Judge  into  the  house  and  laid 


36  THE   PATRIOTS 

him  upon  his  couch  in  the  library.  He  did  not  wish 
to  be  taken  to  his  chamber.  He  would  die  among 
his  books  with  his  wife's  face  above  him  and  the 
world  in  view  through  the  open  window  by  his  side. 
He  had  grow  suddenly  weaker.  Graf  ton,  who  had 
not  seen  him  in  one  of  these  attacks  of  f  aintness,  was 
greatly  alarmed,  and  even  Ariadne,  to  whom  use  had 
made  them  not  so  appalling,  was  filled  with  dismay. 
The  Judge  did  not  respond  to  the  remedies  they  ad 
ministered,  and  Jeff  was  sent  galloping  in  hot  haste 
for  a  physician.  The  old  man  realised  what  the  others 
only  suspected,  that  his  end  was  at  hand.  When  he 
recovered  a  little  strength  from  the  stimulants  which 
they  gave  him,  he  begged  Ariadne  to  leave  him  alone 
with  Philip  for  a  little  space. 

"  My  boy,"  said  the  dying  man  feebly,  as  the 
younger  man  knelt  down  at  the  side  of  the  couch 
and  took  the  hand  of  his  faithful  old  friend  and 
mentor  in  his  own,  "  I  have  lived  my  time.  I  am 
quite  ready  to  go,  yet  I  prayed  that  I  might  be 
allowed  to  live  until  you  came  home  for " — his 
voice  faltered — "  for  Ariadne's  sake." 

"Do  not  say  that,  sir  I" 

"  It  is  true.  I  do  not  wear  a  soldier's  jacket,  like 
you,  Philip,  but  I  can  face  death  as  a  soldier  should, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  live  longer.  Virginia  could  do 
no  less,  but  I  was  too  long  under  the  old  flag  to  be 
happy  under  the  new." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that  now,  sir,"  said  Grafton, 
scarce  knowing  what  to  reply. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  come  out  right  in  the  end,  but 
I  shall  not  live  to  see  it.  Indeed,  there  is  little 
time  left  me  and  less  strength.  I  must  tell  you 
quickly.  You  will  take  care  of  the  child  when  I  am 
gone?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir!    I  shall  be  like    .    .    ." 


FOR    ARIADNE'S    SAKE  37 

"  Philip,  you  are  not  engaged  to  any  of  those 
Northern  girls,  are  you?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Your  letters  of  late  have  been  full  of  a  young 
lady's  name,  Miss  .  .  ah  .  .  Kirkwood  .  .  is 
she  .  .  are  you  .  .  ." 

"  There  is  nothing  whatever  between  Miss  Kirk- 
wood  and  myself,"  answered  Grafton,  although  the 
admission  wrung  his  heart. 

"Good!  Then  I  can  say  what  I  please.  Philip, 
Ariadne  has  nothing.  The  place  is  very  much  run 
down;  the  last  overseer  I  had  was  a  Yankee.  He 
robbed  me  right  and  left.  I  raised  what  money  I 
could  on  the  plantation;  Hill  &  Jamison  were  my 
brokers  in  Richmond.  They  invested  it  in  Northern 
securities.  Hill  &  Jamison  failed  the  other  day,  and 
this  threatened  war  has  ruined  me.  I  find  I  can 
realise  nothing  in  the  North.  Vallewis  is  gone;  I 
shall  not  live  to  see  it  .  .  ." 

"Good  heavens,  sir!"  cried  Philip,  "is  there 
nothing  left?" 

"  Nothing.  Even  the  slaves,  except  Asa  and  Aunt 
Dessy  .  .  ." 

"  What  will  become  of  Ariadne?  " 

"  Philip,"  said  the  old  man  impressively,  with  a 
sudden  accession  of  strength,  "  you  must  marry  her." 

"  What,  sir !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  involun 
tarily  starting  back. 

"  Marry  her." 

"  Why,  she  is  only  a  child !  " 

"  I  know  that.  Give  her  the  protection  of  your 
name.  Wait  to  claim  her  until  .  .  well  .  .  until 
the  war  is  over." 

"  But  I  will  provide  for  her  without  that.  What 
I  have  shall  be  hers.  She  shall  share  everything  that 
is  mine." 


38  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  No,"  said  the  old  Judge.  "  That  will  not  do. 
I  know  that  child.  She  will  be  beholden  to  no  one. 
She  will  go  out  and  try  to  earn  her  own  living  rather 
than  accept  your  charity." 

"  But  it  will  not  be  charity.  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  do  • .  ^  .  ." 

"  Nothing  can  sweeten  the  bitter  bread  of  de 
pendence,  Philip.  Ariadne  is  only  a  child  in  appear 
ance,  but  she  has  a  well-stored  mind.  There  isn't  a 
more  honourable  soul  dwelling  in  a  human  body  than 
hers.  Her  independence  is  boundless.  It  does  not 
appear  what  she  will  be  in  person  to  inexperienced 
eyes,  perhaps,  but  her  grandmother  was  a  beautiful 
woman,  the  most  beautiful  I  ever  saw,"  said  the  old 
man,  his  mind  reverting  in  his  dying  moment  to  the 
wife  of  his  youth.  "  See  her  picture  there  on  the 
wall.  Ariadne  is  very  like  her  .  .  very  like  .  . 
I  shut  out  the  past  and  see  her  when  the  child  ap 
pears.  I  listen  and  I  hear  her  voice  when  Ariadne 
speaks.  Marry  her,  my  boy.  She  loves  you.  She 
is  like  my  Ariadne,  and  I,  who  know,  tell  you  there 
are  capacities  in  the  hearts  of  the  women  of  that  race 
that  promise  joy  unspeakable.  I  cannot  go  and 
leave  her  to  fight  her  battle  alone.  You  will  be  in 
the  field;  you  may  be  killed.  Give  her  the  protection 
of  your  name.  She  is  so  young,  so  innocent,  and  she 
loves  you,  Phil.  It  will  be  her  happiness  and  yours." 

"  Why  not,"  thought  Philip  as  he  listened  to  the 
Judge's  plea.  "  I  can  repay  the  devotion  this  old 
man  has  spent  on  me.  Does  the  child  really  love  me? 
I  can  make  her  happy  then.  She  need  never  know ; 
it's  all  off  between  us.  Kathleen  Kirkwood  will  never 
change.  And  if  she  would,  I  cannot  stoop  where 
I  have  been  so  thrust  aside.  Virginia  .  .  I  was 
willing  and  anxious  to  lay  down  my  life  for  Virginia. 
She  has  first  claim  upon  me.  But  Ariadne,  she  too 


FOR   ARIADNE'S   SAKE  39 

has  a  claim.  What  I  have  will  be  hers.  I  can  give 
her  my  name.  I  am  sure  she  will  bear  it  worthily." 

"  You  will,  Philip  ?  You  cannot  refuse  me 
that.  .  .  ." 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,"  said  Grafton.  "  If  Ariadne 
will  do  me  the  honour  she  shall  be  my  wife." 

"  May  it  be  now,  Philip,  before  I  die?" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  sir,  if  she  will,"  answered 
Grafton  promptly.  Having  made  up  his  mind  there 
was  no  occasion  for  delay. 

Just  then  Dr.  Ellison  rode  up  to  the  door.  Ari 
adne,  fiercely  jealous  because  of  her  exclusion  from 
her  grandfather's  room,  brought  the  doctor  in.  He 
was  an  old  friend  of  the  Judge,  as  his  father  had 
been.  With  a  sympathetic  glance  the  doctor  stepped 
to  the  old  man's  side  and  began  his  examination.  He 
asked  a  few  questions  of  grave  import  and  produced 
a  medicine-case  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
began  compounding  a  certain  prescription. 

"  Ellison,"  began  the  Judge  faintly,  "  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die." 

"  I  know  you  are  not,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"  And  I  ask  you  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  tell 
me,  is  not  this  the  end?  " 

"  Only  God  can  determine  that,  Judge;  but  so  far 
as  my  poor  skill  allows  me  to  say  " —  he  lingered 
over  the  words  as  if  he  would  fain  delay  their  utter 
ance — "  I  think  you  will  scarcely  recover  from  this 
attack." 

Ariadne  clenched  her  hands  and  bit  her  lip.  Her 
heart  almost  stopped  its  beating,  but  she  made  no 
sound.  Philip  stepped  closer  to  her  and  put  his  arm 
around  her  waist.  She  was  grateful  for  the  sup 
port,  which,  however,  she  scarcely  needed  and  little 
availed  herself  of,  she  stood  so  erect.  She  had  known 
that  in  the  nature  of  things  her  grandfather's  death 


40  THE   PATRIOTS 

could  not  be  far  off,  and  she  had  tried  to  prepare  her 
self.  But  when  the  moment  arrived  it  came  to  her 
with  all  the  shock  of  the  utterly  unexpected.  Death 
is  a  thing  for  which  the  loving  are  never  ready.  It 
is  always  a  surprise  to  the  bereft. 

;<  Will  it  be  long?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  Indeed,  I  scarcely  think  you  can  survive  the 
night." 

"  Ellison,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sudden  access 
of  vigour,  "  I  must  live  until  morning !  You  must 
keep  me  here  until  then!  " 

"  You  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord,  Judge.  I 
will  do  my  best." 

"  Is  there  no  remedy,  unusual  but  powerful,  which 
you  can  employ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  certain  drug  from  France," 
he  said ;  "  I  have  not  fully  determined  its  qualities, 
but  they  say  .  .  ." 

"  Give  it  me,"  cried  the  Judge;  "  I  can't  die  to 
night!  " 

There  was  something  appalling  in  that  sudden  and 
resolute  clinging  to  life  by  the  old  man. 

"Why  does  he  say  that?  "  whispered  Ariadne  to 
Philip. 

Death  sometimes  temporarily  sharpens  the  failing 
senses.  Her  grandfather  had  heard  her  faint  whis 
per  and  he  himself  made  answer. 

"  I  must  live  to  see  you  and  Philip  married  in  the 
morning.  Will  some  one  send  for  Bishop  Meade  ?  " 

"  He  is  an  old  man,  sir,"  said  Grafton  quickly. 
"  Will  not  the  Rector  .  .  ." 

"  The  Bishop,"  interrupted  the  Judge  firmly. 
"  He  married  me,  he  married  my  son.  He  will  rise 
from  his  dying  bed  to  marry  my  granddaughter." 

"  If  you  expect  to  live  until  morning,  Judge,"  said 


FOR   ARIADNE'S    SAKE  41 

the  physician,  approaching  with  a  glass  containing 
the  medicine,  "  you  must  drink  this,  and  then  you 
must  be  quiet.  Excitement  would  only  hasten  the 
end." 

"  Is  that  the  French  drug?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  Will  it  make  me  sleep?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Shall  I  ever  awaken?  " 

;'  I  hope  so." 

"  You  will  watch  by  me  and  not  let  me  die  .  • 
alone?  " 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  throughout  the  night." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Ariadne. 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  to  her; 
"  I,  alone.  Philip,  take  her  away."  He  had  known 
them  both  from  childhood.  Indeed,  he  had  brought 
Ariadne  into  the  world. 

'  You  will  call  me     .     .    if    .    ."  whispered  the 
girl,  unwilling  to  leave. 

"Yes,"  said  the  physician;  "you  may  trust  me." 

Ariadne  stepped  softly  to  the  side  of  her  grand 
father's  couch  and  bent  her  head  and  kissed  him. 

"  Philip  has  made  me  very  happy,"  whispered  the 
old  man  tenderly;  "  may  he  make  you  happy,  too." 

"  I  will,  so  help  me  God !  "  cried  Philip. 

"  Good-night,  children,"  said  the  Judge;  "  I  shall 
see  you  in  the  morning.  Now,  doctor,  the  medicine," 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   DAY  BREAKS 

OUT  through  the  hall,  past  the  silent  line  of  awe 
struck  negroes,  Grafton  led  the  poor  little  lonely 
girl.  Anxious  to  escape  from  even  their  friendly 
eyes,  she  turned  to  the  nearest  door,  which  happened 
to  be  that  of  the  drawing-room.  He  half-carried, 
half-led  her  into  the  long  room. 

"  Phil,"  she  said  as  he  closed  the  door,  "  tell  me 
the  truth.  Is  Grandfather  going  to  die?" 

"  I  am  afraid  so,  little  sweetheart." 

He  watched  her  narrowly  as  he  spoke,  fearful  lest 
she  should  break  down.  Her  eyes  were  preternatu- 
rally  bright  and  her  face  paler  than  ever,  but  there 
was  no  unsteadiness  in  the  glance  with  which  she 
looked  at  him. 

"  What  did  he  mean  .  .  about  .  .  ." 
Here  she  hesitated. 

"About  our  marriage,  Ariadne?  "  asked  Grafton 
slowly. 

1  Yes,"  she  nodded. 

"  It  is  .  .  I  wish  you  to  be  my  wife.  Will 
you?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  But  I     .     .     I  am  so  young     .     .     ." 

'  Your  grandfather  has  given  his  consent.  It  is 
the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart." 

"And  of  yours,  Philip?" 

Grafton  lied  like  a  gentleman.  With  the  rich 
beauty  of  Kathleen  Kirkwood's  face  smiting  him  as 
he  spoke,  he  yet  looked  steadily  at  the  pathetic  face 
of  the  young  girl  so  close  to  him  and  answered: 

42 


THE    DAY    BREAKS  43 

"  It  is  the  dearest  wish  of  my  own,  also." 

He  stepped  nearer  to  her  and  stretched  out  his 
arms  to  take  her,  but  the  girl  put  one  slender  hand 
upon  his  breast. 

"Wait,  Phil,"  she  said  slowly;  "I  am  so  young 
v  .  and  I  have  no  mother.  I  wonder  what  it  is  best 
for  me  to  do?  " 

Perhaps  the  old  man  was  wrong.  It  may  be  that 
Ariadne  did  not  love  him.  There  might  be  a  way 
of  escape,  thought  Grafton. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  little  sweetheart?  "  he  asked, 
employing  his  boyhood  pet  name  for  her.  There  was 
a  touch  of  eagerness  in  his  question  which  she 
mistook. 

"Love  you,  Phil!"  Her  hands  went  together 
against  her  breast. 

The  moon  had  just  risen.  A  broad  beam  of  light 
streamed  through  the  long  window  into  the  other 
wise  dark  room  and  fell  upon  her.  He  was  aston 
ished,  almost  appalled,  by  the  change  in  her  expres 
sion.  The  contrast  between  her  look  of  a  moment 
before  and  that  present  aspect  was  almost  as  great 
as  from  the  darkness  in  which  he  stood  to  the  light 
in  which  she  stood.  Yes,  his  way  was  dark,  her 
path  was  light.  He  had  his  answer  and  his  sentence 
in  that  exclamation.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  a  perception  of  the  possibilities  of  beauty  in 
that  face,  and  for  a  second  he  forgot  the  Northern 
woman.  He  stepped  nearer  to  Ariadne  and  took  her 
hands. 

"  Then  you  accept  me?  "  he  said.  "  You  make  me 
very  glad.  You  make  your  grandfather's  last  hours 
happy.  You  will  be  my  wife?  " 

"  But  .  .  but  .  .  I  am  only  a  .  .  girl  .  . 
a  child  .  ."  she  urged,  hesitatingly,  forgetful  of  her 
claim  of  the  afternoon. 


44  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  And  a  child  you  shall  be  until  the  war  is  ended. 
You  shall  bear  my  name,  dear.  I  will  claim  you 
when  the  fighting  is  over." 

He  drew  her  toward  him,  slipped  an  arm  around 
her  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  She  made  no  re 
sistance.  She  trusted  herself  to  him,  and  she  was 
glad. 

Is  it  settled,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Phil,"  said  the  girl  suddenly,  raising  her  head. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  grown  years  in  the  last 
few  moments.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
and  leaned  away  from  him  a  little,  although  he  still 
retained  his  hold  upon  her.  "  Do  you  really  love 
me?" 
.  "  I  dp." 

"  This  is  not  to  please  Grandfather?  " 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"  There  is  no  other  girl  in  your  heart?  " 

Philip  thanked  God  for  the  darkness  which  con 
cealed  his  clenched  hand. 

"  No  one,"  he  said,  forcing  the  falsehood. 

"  That  girl  you  wrote  about,  Kathleen  Kirk- 
wood?" 

"  There  is  nothing  between  us." 

"  On  your  word  of  honour,  Phil?  " 

"  On  my  word  of  honour,  there  isn't  anything  be 
tween  us,"  he  said  promptly,  glad  to  be  able  to  assure 
her  of  that  one  fact.  "  Why  do  you  question  me  in 
this  way,  dearest?  " 

"  I  wish  to  be  sure.  I  am  so  alone,  you  see  .  . 
and  I  don't  know.  If  my  mother  were  only 
here!" 

"  Ariadne,  I  will  be  mother,  father,  brother,  hus 
band  .  .  everything  .  .  to  you,  if  you  will  only 
take  me,"  he  urged,  persuading  himself  that  in  all 
those  things  she  would  not  mind  if  he  failed  to  be 


THE    DAY    BREAKS  45 

that  without  which  all  the  others  were  mere  empty 
terms  between  them — lover! 

"  Come  here,  into  the  light,  Philip.  Let  me  look 
at  you,"  she  said,  drawing  him  forward.  "  Your 
face  is  very  white." 

"  It  is  only  the  moonlight,  dear,"  he  protested. 

"  You  are  sure  that  you  love  me,  only  me,  and 
that  you  really  wish  me  to  be  your  wife?  " 

;<  Very  sure." 

"  Oh,  Phil !  "  cried  the  girl,  with  a  little  move 
ment  of  lassitude,  the  tension  under  which  she  had 
laboured  relaxing  for  the  moment,  "  I  am  so  miser 
able  and  .  .  so  happy !  " 

Her  head  sank  forward,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  on  his  shoulder. 
She  was  so  young  and  she  had  no  mother!  The 
man  held  her  against  his  breast,  that  frail,  slender 
figure,  and  thanked  God  that  he  had  had  the  courage 
to  withhold  the  truth  from  her.  He  swore  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  that  that  which  had  been  committed 
to  him  he  should  cherish  in  his  soul.  By  and  by  he 
lifted  her  up  and  carried  her  to  one  of  the  sofas  and 
laid  her  down  upon  it,  and  bade  her  rest.  He  sat 
beside  her  and  held  her  slender  hand,  promising  that 
he  would  not  leave  her  alone  the  long  night,  and 
kissed  her  often  and  spoke  to  her  tenderly,  and 
watched  her  fall  asleep.  He  sat  there  in  silence 
with  the  little  hand  clasped  in  his  stronger  one.  If 
he  moved  to  release  her  hand,  without  awakening, 
she  held  him  with  a  sudden  instinctive  tightening  of 
her  grasp.  He  was  bound.  The  hand  of  the  woman 
who  was  to  be  his  child-wife,  to  whom  he  was  about 
to  give  the  protection  of  his  name,  the  woman  who 
loved  him,  held  him  fast,  asleep,  awake,  in  life,  in 
death — forever ! 

Grafton  was  not  vain,  but  there  had  been  illumina- 


46  THE  PATRIOTS 

tion  even  to  so  modest  a  soul  as  his  in  her  look,  in  her 
voice,  in  her  bearing  in  that  dark  room  that  told  him 
what  depth  of  passion,  what  wealth  of  affection, 
would  be  his  as  the  child  ripened  into  womanhood. 
Yet,  clasping  the  hand  of  the  girl,  his  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  old  farmhouse  in  the  pleasant  Pennsyl 
vania  hills,  to  the  bright,  proud,  splendid  face  of  the 
woman  who  had  mocked  him  and  cast  him  off  in 
scorn.  He  would  be  Ariadne's  husband,  he  would 
be  to  her  all  that  a  man  could  be — with  his  heart 
forever  given  to  the  woman  of  the  North,  the  girl 
with  the  smiling  mouth,  the  red  lips,  the  bright  hair, 
the  mocking  laugh !  But  it  was  hard.  He  could  not 
realise  what  it  meant;  neither  what  he  had  lost  nor 
what  he  had  gained. 

So  through  the  long  hours  in  one  chamber  of  the 
house  affection  watched  death,  while  in  another  sad 
ness  brooded  over  a  troubled  yet  happy  heart.  And 
what  would  be  the  end  ?  Philip  hoped,  he  could  only 
hope — that  was  all. 

But  that  slender  child,  whose  uneasy  breathing 
marked  her  restless  slumber,  was  not  of  a  race  which 
is  content  with  half  a  heart,  and  such  devotion  as 
she  gave  to  him  could  be  fairly  met  and  measured 
by  nothing  save  an  equal  return.  That  did  not 
occur  to  him  then,  but  some  day  he  would  awake  to 
the  knowledge.  She  would  learn  it  perhaps  and 
then — her  heart  would  break ! 

The  grey  light  of  the  cool  dawn  was  just  stealing 
through  the  openings  of  the  Venetian  blinds  when 
Ariadne  awoke  to  hear  a  carriage  stop  on  the  gravel 
driveway  before  the  door.  The  good  Bishop,  ap 
prised  of  the  urgency  of  the  case,  had  not  waited  until 
morning,  but  had  come  at  once  to  marry  his  young 
friend  and  see  his  old  friend  die.  The  doctor,  too, 
weary  with  his  long  vigil,  had  heard  the  sound.  His 


THE    DAY    BREAKS  47 

exit  into  the  hall  and  the  voice  of  the  venerable  old 
man,  even  though  he  spoke  softly  as  he  entered  the 
door  and  asked  how  did  his  ancient  friend,  awakened 
the  Judge. 

A  moment  and  the  Bishop  alone  entered  the  room 
and  knelt  praying  beside  the  dying  man.  The  Bishop 
had  lived  many  years  and  had  served  much.  His 
own  race  was  nearly  run.  The  meeting  between  the 
two  old  friends  was  tender,  the  one  almost  over  the 
threshold,  the  other  approaching  the  door.  They 
had  little  to  say  to  each  other,  and  their  interview 
was  soon  over.  The  Bishop  called  the  doctor,  and  he 
summoned  Ariadne  and  Philip. 

"  He  is  awake?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  physician,  "  but  there  is  lit 
tle  time  to  lose." 

Hand  in  hand  the  two  young  people  entered  the 
room. 

"  It  was  a  marvellous  draught,"  said  the  Judge 
faintly,  and  they  were  shocked  by  the  change  in  him, 
"  I  thank  you  .  .  Ellison  .  .  Ariadne  .  . 
Phil  .  .  are  you  ready?  " 

"  Yes,  Grandfather,"  said  the  girl,  fighting  for  her 
courage  again. 

;'  Ready,  sir,"  said  Philip. 

"  William,"  said  the  Judge,  turning  to  the  Bishop, 
his  boyhood  friend. 

'  Yes,  Henry,"  answered  the  prelate. 

"  I  am  dying  .  .  you  know  .  .  and  before 
I  go  I  wish  you  to  marry  .  .  Ariadne  and  Phil 
here  .  .  as  you  married  me  .  .  as  you  married 
her  mother." 

"  Is  it  your  wish,  too,  my  dear?  "  asked  the  ven 
erable  Bishop. 

"  Yes,  Bishop." 

"And  yours,  Philip?" 


48  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  Yes,  Bishop  Meade." 

The  Bishop  rose  and  opened  the  well-worn  Prayer 
Book  which  was  his  constant  companion. 

"Wait,"  said  the  Judge;  "  I  have  but  little  time, 
but  .  .  I  shall  last  this  out.  Your  robes  of  office, 
Will.  I  remember  .  .  how  you  looked  when  •.  . 
I  stood  before  you  .  .  years  ago.  You  were  not 
.  .  a  Bishop  .  .  then." 

The  doctor  had  hastened  out  at  the  Judge's  word 
and  came  back  bringing  the  Bishop's  robe  case. 
Swiftly,  but  with  fingers  that  trembled  not  so  much 
from  age  as  feeling,  the  Bishop  adjusted  his  vest 
ments.  He  was  a  soldier  in  his  way,  who  had  met 
death  in  the  high  places  upon  many  a  field  upon  which 
he  reigned  supreme,  yet  he  could  not  recall  a  sight 
quite  like  this.  His  voice  shook,  too,  as  he  bade  the 
young  people  stand  before  him.  The  tears  dimmed 
his  eyes,  he  could  not  see  the  book.  That  was  no 
matter;  he  knew  the  service  by  heart,  and  out  of  his 
heart  he  spoke  on  that  day  as  he  had  rarely  spoken 
before. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  Judge  once  more;  "  I  wish  Asa 
.  .  and  Aunt  Dessy  .  .  here." 

On  tiptoe  the  two  negroes,  who  had  been  wait 
ing  outside  the  door,  came  into  the  room. 

"  Asa,"  said  his  old  master,  "  you  belong  to  me 
and  to  my  son.  .  .  I  wish  to  give  you  .  .  your 
freedom  .  .  now." 

"  Doan  do  dat,  Marse  Henry!  Gimme  to  Miss 
A'dny,  heah,  me  an'  Aunt  Dessy,  suh.  We  doan 
want  no  freedom,  suh  I  " 

"  Nor,  suh,  Marse  Henry,"  echoed  Aunt  Dessy, 
who  was  Aza's  wife.  "  Dat's  right,  suh.  You  ain't 
gwine  to  lef  us  'lone  widout  belongin'  to  nobody 
't  all?" 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  Judge,  "  I  give  you  to  your 


THE    DAY    BREAKS  49 

young  mistress.  .  .  She  is  to  be  married  this  morn 
ing  .  .  and  I  called  .  .  you  in  as  .  .  witnesses. 
Now,  William." 

He  turned  to  the  clergyman.  Solemnly,  sadly,  the 
Bishop  read  the  words  that  bound  the  two  young 
people  together  until  death  did  them  part.  Silent, 
a  darkly  pale  little  figure  of  repression,  Ariadne 
stood.  Stern  and  still,  Philip,  in  the  grey  jacket  of  a 
private  in  the  old  Virginia  line,  made  the  responses 
as  if  in  a  dream,  fighting  within  himself  a  civil  war 
which  rent  and  tore  his  heart,  with  a  woman  of  the 
South  arrayed  against  a  woman  of  the  North; 
one  claiming  him  through  duty,  the  other  through 
love,  awakening  to  find  himself  at  last  in  honour 
bound. 

As  the  Bishop  laid  his  hands  in  blessing  upon  the 
bowed  heads  of  the  two  kneeling  before  him,  there 
was  a  little  silence  in  the  room.  Presently  the 
Bishop  turned  to  his  old  friend.  The  Judge  had 
struggled  to  lift  himself  upon  his  arm.  His  face 
was  turned  toward  the  open  window.  Far  up  the 
river  the  glow  of  the  sunrise  tinged  the  woods  and 
fields  and  turned  the  water  into  gold.  The  light  fell 
upon  his  white  face.  The  breeze  of  the  morning 
stirred  his  white  hair  in  tender  caress. 

u  Thank  God,"  he  murmured,  "  it  is  done.  Ari 
adne  will  be  happy.  .  .  Good  bless  you,  Phil !  " 

Mechanically  Jeff  had  gone  out  at  sunrise  and 
hoisted  the  flag.  The  old  man  saw  it  rising  on  the 
staff. 

"What  flag  is  that?  Virginia  .  .  God  bless 
her  .  .  and  save  the  United  States.  See  .  ." 
he  lifted  his  hand,  "  the  day  breaks." 

He  fell  softly  back  upon  the  pillows  and  lay  quite 
still. 

"  The  day  breaks,"  said  the  Bishop  solemnly,  lay- 


50  THE   PATRIOTS 

ing  his  hand  upon  the  lightless  eyes  of  his  old  friend; 
"  the  day  breaks  and  the  shadows  flee  away." 

So  with  the  dawn  the  soul  of  the  Judge  entered 
that  other  country  from  whose  unity  there  is  no 
secession. 


CHAPTER   V 

AGE  AND  YOUTH — AND  A  WOMAN 

Two  days  after  his  death  they  buried  the  old  Judge 
in  the  little  graveyard  by  the  side  of  the  chapel  on 
the  slope  of  the  hill  facing  the  river.  On  one  side 
of  him  lay  Ariadne,  his  wife,  on  the  other,  Ariadne, 
his  daughter,  while  at  the  foot  of  the  grave  stood 
Ariadne,  his  grandchild,  last  of  her  race.  On  the 
right  of  his  girl-wife,  clad  in  his  plain  grey  soldier's 
jacket,  stood  her  husband,  holding  her  lightly  by 
the  arm.  On  the  other  side  of  her  stood  a  tall,  im 
posing-looking  man  of  middle  age.  He  was  booted 
and  spurred  for  riding,  and  wore  a  handsome  grey 
uniform  with  three  gold  stars  on  the  collar.  His 
face  was  ruddy,  his  hair  was  dark  and  thick,  and  like 
his  moustache  was  slightly  tinged  with  grey.  He 
wore  no  beard  then.  His  head  was  a  noble  one  and 
his  countenance  revealed  at  a  glance  his  high  char 
acter  and  suggested  that  "  perfect  balance  of  facul 
ties,  mental,  moral,  and  physical,"  which  his  subse 
quent  career  showed  he  enjoyed. 

He  was  the  busiest  man  in  Richmond  at  the  time, 
but  he  had  ridden  down  to  Vallewis  when  his  friend 
and  counsellor,  Bishop  Meade,  told  him  of  the  death 
of  the  Judge,  to  do  him  honour  on  the  day  of  his 
funeral. 

There  were  other  gentlemen  present,  mostly  old 
men,  from  neighbouring  plantations,  and  many 
women,  young  and  old,  who  had  not  gone  to  Rich 
mond  or  to  camp  to  be  near  loved  ones  in  the  army. 
Back  of  all  were  the  house  servants  and  plantation 

51 


52  THE   PATRIOTS 

slaves,  tears  glistening  on  their  black  faces  as  they 
listened  to  the  white-haired  Bishop  reading  those  last 
words  of  farewell.  All  those  present  in  their  several 
stations  had  loved  and  honoured  the  Judge.  They 
had  enjoyed  his  friendship,  they  had  followed  his 
counsel,  they  had  obeyed  his  commands,  they  would 
remember  him  with  affection  and  regret;  yet,  under 
the  circumstances,  it  does  no  violence  to  the  sin 
cerity  of  their  grief  to  say  that  they  had  a  deeper 
interest  in  the  living  than  in  the  dead. 

'Tis  life  that  appeals  to  man.  There  is  but  one 
answer  to  Rip  Van  Winkle's  pathetic  question,  "  Are 
we  then  so  soon  forgotten?  "  The  eyes  of  all  present 
were  turned  from  the  narrow  flower-strewn  opening, 
from  the  beloved  form  of  the  old  Bishop,  from  the 
casket  upon  which  the  earth  fell  from  friendly  hands 
with  a  caressing  touch,  to  seek  the  three  figures  at 
the  foot  of  the  grave. 

Philip  represented  the  young  manhood  of  Vir 
ginia,  its  dauntless  courage,  its  unbounded  enthusi 
asm,  its  absolute  devotion,  its  willingness  to  fight 
to  the  bitter  end  for  a  principle  it  believed  to  be  right. 
The  elder  man  typified  the  ineffable  dignity,  the  royal 
majesty,  the  profound  ability  of  the  South.  Not 
an  unknown  man  he  of  the  greying  hair  and  the  three 
stars,  but  with  the  greater  part  of  his  marvellous 
reputation  still  in  the  future.  Robert  E.  Lee,  as  he 
stood  there  on  that  sunny  summer  morning,  illus 
trated  the  character  and  quality,  as  he  bore  the  hopes, 
of  those  upon  whom  the  burden  of  the  struggle  must 
fall.  Between  the  two,  so  frail,  so  delicate,  so  dainty, 
yet  so  brave  and  so  undaunted,  was  a  Southern 
woman,  leaning  upon  one,  looking  up  to  the  other. 
The  object  of  one's  devotion  and  the  other's  pro 
tection,  she  was  a  living  suggestion  of  the  country  for 
which  they  were  both  to  fight  to  the  bitter  end. 


AGE   AND    YOUTH  53 

Nor  did  there  seem  anything  incongruous  in  this 
conjunction  of  major-general  and  private  soldier. 
They  were  both  gentlemen  of  the  old  stock,  and  al 
though  it  was  given  to  one  to  sway  the  destinies  of 
thousands,  to  determine  great  events,  to  hold  armies 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  while  the  other  was  but 
a  single  pawn  on  the  great  chess-board  upon  which 
masters  were  to  play  the  mighty  game  of  war,  each 
was  giving  his  all,  himself.  Each  was  doing  his  best, 
learning  and  labouring  truly,  as  the  good  Bishop 
might  have  said  with  catechetical  remembrance,  in 
that  state  of  life  unto  which  it  had  pleased  God  to 
call  him. 

Beneath  the  sadness  and  solemnity  befitting  the 
occasion  which  had  brought  them  together,  different 
emotions  were  present  in  the  faces  of  those  two. 
Grafton  had  other  cause  for  grief  than  in  the  death 
of  his  friend  and  the  secession  of  his  state.  Ariadne 
was  visibly  present  by  his  side;  his  hand  clasped  her 
own;  should  she  lean  toward  him  his  arm  would  en 
fold  her.  Yet  he  did  not  have  to  close  his  eyes 
or  turn  his  head  to  see  Kathleen  Kirkwood,  nor 
was  she  less  really  present  to  him  than  was  his 
wife. 

In  the  first  days  of  his  marriage  the  irrevocable 
nature  of  the  situation  came  home  to  him  with  ever 
increasing  force,  and  the  sense  of  his  sacrifice  grew 
upon  him  until  he  felt  that  he  should  grow  mad  in 
playing  a  part.  Not  that  he  did  not  love  Ariadne, 
but  that  he  loved  the  Northern  woman  more.  In 
deed,  his  heart  went  out  to  the  mournful  little  figure 
of  his  wife.  He  pitied  her;  he  was  wishful,  earnest, 
to  promote  her  happiness;  yet  the  very  fact  that  he 
was  tied,  fettered,  bound  to  her  turned  the  ordinary- 
affection  he  had  borne  her  in  the  long  days  of  their 
comradeship  together  into  something  that  at  first 


54  THE   PATRIOTS 

blush  seemed  almost  like  hatred.  And  he  fought 
stoutly  against  such  a  feeling. 

He  had  kissed  her  with  a  glad  heart  many  times, 
and,  indeed,  it  was  a  very  kissable  mouth  that  she 
lifted  up  to  him  from  time  to  time,  but  now  to  caress 
her  in  the  most  casual  way  required  a  constraint  that 
almost  unmanned  him.  Fortunately  for  him,  the 
demands  of  the  situation  while  her  grandfather  lay 
unburied,  the  many  duties  devolved  upon  them  both, 
the  necessity  laid  upon  him  to  ride  to  Richmond  and 
ask  a  furlough  for  a  week  to  arrange  his  affairs,  had 
kept  the  two  apart  most  of  the  time.  As  she  stood 
there  by  his  side,  however,  he  realised  that  the  mor 
row  must  bring  forth  some  sort  of  accounting. 

He  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  to  have  heeded  the 
Judge's  pleading,  whenever  he  was  away  from  his 
wife.  He  said  to  himself  that  Kathleen's  fiery  word, 
her  rejection,  was  not  final;  that  had  he  been  more 
patient  he  might  have  won  her  back  again;  but  when 
he  was  with  Ariadne,  when  his  better  nature  was 
uppermost,  he  was  not  sorry.  At  least  he  was  glad 
that  he  had  been  permitted  to  sacrifice  himself  for 
his  old  friend  and  counsellor,  and  he  swore  to  make 
the  girl  happy.  When  he  saw  the  love  and  devotion 
she  expressed  whenever  she  was  alone  in  his  presence, 
and  even  in  spite  of  herself  when  others  were  near, 
when  he  marked  the  way  her  eye  dwelt  upon  him, 
how  her  soul  seemed  to  seek  his,  he  cursed  himself 
again  that  wayward  fate  did  not  allow  him  to  re 
turn  that  treasure  of  affection  which  she  lavished 
upon  him. 

The  struggle  had  written  something  of  this  in  his 
face.  But  he  was  a  young  man.  He  had  put  on  a 
soldier's  jacket.  The  call  to  arms  rang  in  his  ear. 
He  had  never  seen  fighting;  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
wearying  days  in  camp,  of  the  long  marching  under 


AGE    AND    YOUTH  55 

blazing  sun;  of  picket  guard  on  frozen  snow;  of  the 
unprotected  body,  naked  and  fever-racked;  of  the 
searing  wound;  of  hours  of  exhaustion  and  neglect 
on  some  rain-washed  battlefield,  or  in  some  ill-pro 
vided  hospital;  of  burning  thirst,  of  racking  pain; 
the  nervous  agony  of  starvation;  the  humiliation  of 
defeat — its  despair.  All  this  was  war — real  war. 
If  men  realised  it  beforehand  perhaps  there  would  be 
less  enthusiasm  for  fighting. 

As  Philip  saw  it,  war  was  action,  a  brilliant  chance 
to  do  and  dare,  to  brave  death  in  the  high  places  of 
the  field,  to  follow  the  advanced  flag  in  the  front  of 
the  cheering  line.  It  was  to  strike  home  upon  the 
enemy  that  dared  assail  the  state  of  old  Virginia. 
It  was  to  fight  with  the  valour  and  courage  of  the 
cavaliers  who  had  stood  for  Church  and  King  in 
the  old  land,  who  had  fought  for  right  and  freedom 
in  the  new.  Sometimes  he  forgot  for  the  moment 
both  Ariadne  and  Kathleen  and  threw  his  head  back 
confident  of  the  future  and  triumphant  therein. 

The  older  man  was  wiser.  A  touch  of  sadness 
not  altogether  due  to  respect  for  his  departed  friend 
lingered  on  his  handsome  face.  Yet  he  was  not  a 
sad  man ;  melancholy  never  marked  him  for  her  own. 
There  was  a  sternness,  too,  in  the  close-shut  lips,  in 
the  direct  glance  of  those  deep  brown  eyes,  tender 
and  gentle  enough,  yet  with  a  fire  lurking  in  their 
depths  that  could  flash  on  occasion.  There  was  in 
his  bearing  a  serenity,  a  confidence,  a  certain  proud 
assurance  that  only  ability  can  give  to  those  con 
scious  of  their  powers.  An  assurance  modestly 
borne  without  parade  or  pretence.  This  man  knew 
what  war  was.  He  had  heard  the  bullets  whistle; 
he  had  set  squadrons,  planted  guns,  and  led  charges; 
he  had  ridden  with  wrung  heart  over  fields  of  victory 
only  less  horrible  than  plains  of  defeat.  Here  was 


56  THE   PATRIOTS 

a  man  who  had  none  of  the  illusions  of  youth.  He 
realised  as  Philip  could  not — although  Philip  knew 
more  than  most  of  the  men  of  his  day — just  what 
was  before  him.  The  years  of  struggle  and  toil,  of 
labour  and  thought,  of  marches  and  fights  incredi 
ble,  of  triumphs  and  defeats,  of  success  and  failure. 

Experience  and  ignorance,  age  and  youth,  they 
wear  not  the  same  front  before  the  world;  yet  within 
both  these  men  there  were  points  of  resemblance  as 
well  as  of  difference.  They  possessed  alike  the  same 
knightly  courage,  the  same  brilliant  daring,  the  same 
fire  and  energy.  His  few  years  had  not  checked  the 
development  of  these  attributes  in  the  one ;  his  many 
years  had  not  altered  these  qualities  in  the  other. 

Ariadne's  tender  bosom  shook  with  her  deep 
breathing,  but  she  made  no  sound.  She  endured  all 
without  a  murmur,  without  a  complaint.  She  could 
suffer  and  be  silent — the  supremest  exhibition  of 
woman's  courage!  Yet  her  grief  that  day  was  not 
what  it  might  have  been  were  it  not  for  the  man  at 
her  side  whose  name  she  bore.  The  old  love  is  ever 
lost  in  the  new.  Even  in  that  hour — did  she  hate 
herself  for  it,  or  was  she  glad? — her  thoughts  were 
turned  from  that  which  was  dead  in  the  ground  at 
her  feet  to  that  which  was  alive  by  her  side.  The 
touch  of  his  hand  upon  her  arm  thrilled  her.  The 
new  thing  had  come  to  her.  Unconsciously  at  first 
she  had  loved  Philip.  She  did  not  understand  exactly 
what  the  feelings  were  that  surged  in  her  young 
bosom.  She  did  not  realise  what  they  were.  She 
was  so  inexperienced,  so  young,  and  she  had  no 
mother  into  whose  loving  ears  she  could  pour  her  tale 
of  hopes  and  fears  and  maidenly  dreams. 

When  he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  when  he 
had  said  he  loved  her,  when  he  had  assured  her  there 
no  one  else — Philip,  who  could  not  lie — she 


AGE   AND    YOUTH  57 

realised  then  how  much  she  had  hated  that  Northern 
woman  with  whose  name  his  letters  had  been  filled. 
Now — now,  she  only  pitied  her.  For  Philip  was 
hers,  alone,  forever!  Ariadne  stood  face  to  face 
with  death;  bereavement  had  swept  from  her  sud 
denly  him  who  had  hitherto  been  all  in  all  to  her, 
but  she  stood  face  to  face  with  life  as  well.  She  had 
been  born  again  in  her  heart.  Love  was  quickened 
within  her;  she  was  Philip's  and  Philip  was  hers! 
She  thought  herself  heartless;  she  wept  bitter  tears 
for  the  old  man.  She  tried  to  silence  the  song  in  her 
soul,  but  it  would  not  be.  The  supreme  fact  for  her 
was  that  Philip  and  she  were  married. 

Womanlike,  at  first,  she  dwelt  not  so  much  upon 
his  love  for  her  as  upon  hers  for  him.  Later  the 
other  side  would  be  in  evidence  to  her.  Now  she 
revelled  in  her  own  passion;  she  luxuriated  in  it.  His 
word,  his  touch,  his  kiss  had  opened  the  flood-gates 
of  her  being  and  the  waters  were  out.  I  wonder 
what  the  old  Judge  would  have  thought  of  it  all  if 
he  could  have  come  back?  Ah,  well,  the  happiness 
of  the  dead  is  that  they  cannot  come  back  to  see 
how  soon  they  are  forgotten !  There  is  always  a 
first  place  in  every  human  heart,  and  rarely,  indeed, 
is  it  filled  by  those  who  have  gone  away. 

So  they  stood,  typical  of  the  situation,  by  the  body 
of  an  old  relationship  already  forgot,  confronting 
new  conditions:  age  and  youth — and  a  woman. 


CHAPTER   VI 

"  SO  RUNS  THE  WORLD  AWAY  " 

THAT  afternoon  the  lawyer  came.  The  kind  friends 
had  all  gone  and  left  them.  Some  of  the  women  had 
volunteered  to  stay  with  Ariadne,  but  Philip,  whose 
instinct  was  not  at  fault,  had  gently  declined  their 
proffered  services.  For  himself  he  would  have  pre 
ferred  not  to  be  left  alone  with  his  wife,  but  he  knew 
well  what  her  pleasure  would  be,  and  he  resolutely 
set  himself  to  subordinate  his  own  desires,  so  far  as 
he  could,  to  hers. 

The  lawyer  had  important  documents  to  read,  im 
portant  messages  to  communicate.  Ariadne  must 
hear  them.  But  Philip  chose  to  tell  his  wife  the 
sad  news  in  his  own  way,  and  after  a  brief  conference 
with  the  attorney  he  sought  her. 

"  Not  there,"  she  said  as  he  turned  toward  the 
library;  "  it  was  in  there  that  grandfather  died.  We 
will  go  in  here," — she  pointed  toward  the  drawing- 
room — "  it  was  there  you  told  me  that  you  loved  me. 
I  must  put  aside  the  past  .  ."  her  lips  trembled — 
"  I  must  live  for  you  now.  You  are  a  soldier  and 
I  am  a  soldier's  wife.  Grandfather  would  have 
it  so." 

Hand-in-hand  they  stepped  into  the  drawing- 
room.  On  one  of  the  walls  hung  a  portrait  of  the 
Judge  taken  in  his  prime,  standing  as  was  the 
fashion,  with  one  hand  thrust  in  the  breast  of  his 
blue  swallow-tail  coat,  the  other  uplifted  in  the 
characteristic  gesture  he  was  wont  to  employ  in  the 

58 


"SO    RUNS   THE    WORLD   AWAY'     59 

Senate  when  men  hung  on  the  honeyed  eloquence  of 
those  lips  now  so  peacefully  still  in  the  churchyard 
fronting  the  river — the  river  that  ever  flowed  on, 
washing  the  shores  of  Vallewis,  although  the  last 
of  the  great  race  which  had  made  it  a  home  was 
gone  and  strangers  would  henceforth  be  its  lords 
paramount. 

Once  in  the  room  Grafton  stopped  uncertainly. 
Ariadne  sat  down  in  the  great  chair  which  had  been 
brought  from  England,  two  hundred  years  before, 
from  which  the  lords  of  the  manor  had  dispensed 
justice  in  Colonial  days,  and  her  husband  knelt  by 
her  side.  How  little  she  looked  in  that  great  rude 
throne;  yet  there  was  a  sort  of  majesty  and  dignity 
about  the  child,  a  beauty  spirituelle,  unearthly,  in 
the  pale  face  rising  above  the  black  robe,  that  moved 
him  strangely.  He  smiled  at  her,  and,  quick  to  note 
his  every  mood,  she  questioned: 

'  Why  do  you  smile  at  me,  Phil?  " 

"  You  are  so  young,"  he  said  tenderly,  lifting  her 
little  hand  and  pressing  a  kiss  upon  it,  "  so  young  to 
be  a  wife !  " 

"  But  that  is  a  fault  every  day  will  mend,"  she  re 
plied  anxiously.  "  The  war  will  soon  be  over.  I 
shall  try  so  hard,  while  I  wait  for  you,  to  fit  myself 
for  you  when  you  come  to  .  .  to  take  me." 

"  You  are  fit  now,  little  sweetheart,  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  better  man  than  I." 

"  There  is  no  better,  and  I  am  not,  but  it  makes 
me  very  happy  to  hear  you  say  so.  If  you  will  allow 
me  I  will  stay  here  at  Vallewis,  where  everybody 
loves  me,  with  old  Aza  and  dear  Aunt  Dessy  to 
take  care  of  me,  with  all  my  people.  You  shall  tell 
me  what  to  do,  what  books  to  read,  how  to  order  my 
life,  and  I  will  try  so  hard!  I  am  growing  very  fast. 
Grandfather  used  to  say  that  I  would  be  a  tall  girl 


60  THE   PATRIOTS 

sometime,  and  I  shall  live  outdoors  and  grow  strong 
and  well.  If  I  could  only  be  beautiful,  like  my 
mother!  " 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  cried  Grafton,  choking  back 
the  tears,  "  you  do  not  know  how  unworthy  of  you 
I  am  .  .  ." 

"  But  you  love  me,  don't  you?  You  said  you  did 
and  .  .  ." 

"I  do,  I  do!"  protested  the  man,  and  for  the 
moment  he  did  and  the  words  rang  true. 

Ariadne  flushed  softly,  not  deeply;  the  delicate 
paleness  of  her  cheek  took  upon  itself  the  hue  of  the 
wild  rose.  She  would  be  a  dainty  woman,  as  she  was 
a  dainty  child — and  a1  beautiful  one.  Some  day 
Master  Philip  might  find  that  out — too  late. 

"  If  you  love  me,"  said  Ariadne  softly,  "  I  do  not 
mind  anything  else." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  " 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it." 
'  Then    .    .    that  makes  it    .    .    easier  to    .    .    ." 

41  It  makes  what  easier?  "  asked  the  girl  as  Grafton 
hesitated. 

"  What  I  have  to  tell  you,"  he  continued,  reluct 
antly,  yet  impelled  by  stern  necessity. 

"  What  is  it  you  have  to  tell  me?  You  .  .  you 
love  me  still?  "  she  asked  anxiously,  bending  closer  to 
to  him,  her  soul  in  her  eyes. 

There  was  something  in  the  situation  that  did  not 
quite  satisfy  Ariadne,  a  doubt,  an  incertitude,  that 
she  fought  against.  Philip  had  said  again  and  again 
that  he  loved  her — yet — yet 

"  It's  not  that,"  said  the  young  man,  "  but  .  .  I 
hate  to  say  it.  You  cannot  stop  at  Vallewis." 

"  Don't  you  wish  me  to  do  so?  Very  well,  then, 
if  it  is  your  desire." 

"  My  wishes  have  nothing  to  do  with  it," 


"SO    RUNS   THE    WORLD    AWAY'     61 

"  They  have  everything  to  do  with  me,"  said  the 
girl,  glad  to  submit  the  direction  of  herself  to  him. 

"  Vallewis  does  not  belong  to  you  any  longer, 
dear,"  he  said  abruptly,  seeing  that  she  would  not 
understand. 

"  Not  belong?  What  do  you  mean,  Philip?  " 

Then  Grafton  told  her  the  whole  sad  story.  The 
place  was  gone,  she  owned  not  a  foot  of  it,  not  a 
slave,  not  a  horse  or  a  cow,  nothing  but  her  mother's 
jewels,  her  grandfather's  books  and  her  own  cloth 
ing.  These  the  old  man  had  had  foresight  to  save 
for  her.  It  was  a  bitter  blow  for  the  girl. 

"  And  .  .  instead  of  bringing  you  this  great 
plantation  .  .  I  .  .  I  have  nothing,"  she  mur 
mured,  "  not  even  a  slave." 

"  Aza  and  Aunt  Dessy  are  yours,  the  lawyer  tells 
me." 

"  And  the  house  must  be  sold?  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  slaves  are  not  to  be  sold  down  the 
river.  The  planters  of  the  vicinity  will  buy  them 
and  families  will  not  be  separated.  I  shall  buy  Jeff 
myself  for  my  body-servant." 

"  I  am  so  glad  of  that.  Since  I  am  married  I 
understand  better  than  before  what  it  must  be  to 
separate  man  and  wife." 

"  If  there  is  anything  else  you  wish,  dear,  it  shall 
be  bought  for  you." 

"  Bonnibel,  my  horse?" 

"  Of  course." 

"And  the  pictures?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  and  your  piano." 

^'  That  will  be  all.  _  Shall  I  live  at  Braeside  then?  " 

She  was  taking  it  bravely,  he  saw.  And  he 
gloried  at  the  pride  of  race  that  enabled  her  to  sus 
tain  these  successive  shocks  with  such  dauntless  forti 
tude  and  calm. 


62  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  Will  you  be  guided  by  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  everything,"  she  replied,  giving  him  her  hand 
again. 

"  Then  go  to  Richmond.  Mrs.  Galloway  is  a 
connection  of  mine.  She  lives  alone  in  a  great  big 
house  in  a  retired  section  of  the  city.  She  will  be 
delighted  to  have  you  there." 

"It  is  settled,  then,"  answered  Ariadne,  rising; 
"  I  suppose  there  are  some  papers  that  I  must  sign  ?  " 

"  A  few.    The  lawyer  is  waiting  in  the  library." 

"  Let  us  have  it  over  with  as  soon  as  possible  then." 

"  It  must  be,"  said  Philip,  "  since  my  furlough  ex 
pires  day  after  to-morrow.  All  must  be  settled  be 
fore  then." 

Three  days  later  Ariadne  and  Philip  stood  together 
in  the  library  of  Mrs.  Galloway's  house  in  Richmond. 
It  was  a  pleasant  house,  standing  back  from  the  street 
in  a  grassy  lawn  bordered  with  trees.  It  was  not  like 
the  great  rambling  plantation  house,  with  its  thou 
sands  of  acres  of  valley  and  hill,  or  meadow  and 
woodland,  around  it,  yet  it  would  serve  Ariadne  until 
her  husband  came  back. 

She  had  a  pretty  suite  of  rooms.  Her  own  piano 
stood  in  her  parlor,  the  best  of  her  grandfather's 
books  lined  the  walls  and  the  pictures  of  her  own 
people  hung  from  every  point  of  display.  Back  of 
them  was  her  room.  Money  was  plentiful  in  the 
Confederacy  in  those  days  and  it  was  as  good  as  gold. 
Grafton,  as  if  to  make  amends  by  material  gifts  for 
his  lack  of  love,  had  not  stinted  his  wife  in  any  way. 
Everything  luxurious  that  the  city  afforded  was  at  her 
disposal,  but  with  the  simplicity  of  taste  which  had 
distinguished  her  ancestors  she  had  furnished  her  bed 
chamber  in  white.  It  was  as  virginal,  as  pure,  as  inno 
cent,  as  her  heart.  Many  a  time  in  wearying  cam 
paigns,  in  the  long,  silent  night  marches,  did  Philip's 


"SO    RUNS   THE    WORLD    AWAY'     63 

mind  revert  to  that  white  chamber  and  its  loving  in 
mate. 

Ariadne  would  have  given  herself  to  him  then  and 
there  unreservedly,  but  the  promise  made  to  the  dead 
was  sacred.  Philip  was  glad  to  have  it  so.  She  was 
yet  but  a  child,  too  young  to  be  burdened  with  a 
woman's  responsibilities.  She  had  troubles,  griefs 
and  anxieties  enough  in  her  heart.  When  the  war 
would  be  over,  if  he  lived  to  come  back  again  and 
claim  her,  he  would  do  so.  If  he  died — all  that  he 
had  would  be  hers. 

It  had  been  a  terrible  thing  for  Ariadne  to  part 
with  her  slaves,  who  had  known  her  from  birth,  as 
they  crowded  about  her  sobbing  and  weeping,  kissing 
the  hem  of  her  garment,  and  she  had  almost  broken 
down.  She  thought  that  the  limit  of  endurance  had 
been  reached  then,  but  when  Philip  stood  before  her 
ready  to  leave  her,  the  loss  of  her  grandfather,  the 
farewell  to  her  people,  the  parting  with  her  property, 
were  as  nothing  to  her.  Then  and  there  her  heart 
broke. 

"  Oh,  Phil!  "  she  cried,  "  don't  go!  I  can't  give 
you  up !  You  are  all  I  have.  Let  others  fight  for 
Virginia !  It  breaks  my  heart  to  .  .  ." 

"Is  this  the  spirit  of  the  South?"  asked  Philip 
tenderly,  a  growing  pity  for  her  in  his  heart. 

The  parting  was  a  sadness  to  him,  but  it  was  a  re 
lief  as  well.  As  he  had  felt  at  the  farmhouse  at  York 
a  short  time  before,  when  Kathleen  drove  him  away, 
he  could  understand  how  Ariadne  must  feel  now. 
Yet  there  were  depths  in  his  girl-wife's  heart  greater 
than  any  that  Philip's  experience  called  upon  him  to 
sound.  His  love  for  Kathleen  Kirkwood,  deep  and 
abiding  as  he  believed  it  to  be,  was  evanescent,  a  trifle, 
compared  to  the  devotion  of  poor  truthful  little 
Ariadne. 


64  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  You  must  not  give  way,"  he  said,  gently  laying 
his  hand  upon  her  head.  Philip  could  be  so  tender, 
so  kind — yet  there  was  always  something  lacking,  she 

thought.  Was  he  afraid  of  her  or "  It's  for 

Virginia,  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  would 
not  love  me  if  I  did  not  go." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "  I  know.  That  is 
the  way  I  ought  to  feel.  I  do  feel  so,  now,  but  I  can 
not  bear  to  see  you  go.  You  see  Virginia  has  so  many 
and  I  have  only  .  .  you." 

"  I  shall  come  back  to  you,"  said  Grafton,  with  the 
confidence  he  did  not  feel,  and  his  words  did  not  voice 
a  hope  he  cherished  greatly,  either — "  never  fear. 
We  shall  have  many  years  together.  You  will  get 
tired  of  me." 

"  Never,  never !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  You  will  write 
to  me  often  ?  " 

"  Whenever  I  can  in  the  camp." 

"  And  I  will  write  you  every  day,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  keep  a  journal;  I  will  put  down  my  heart  that 
you  may  see  it  and  know  there  is  nothing  in  it  but 
you.  I  shall  try  to  be  ready  for  you  when  you  come 
to  claim  me." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  only  a  week  had  elapsed 
since  Philip  had  tossed  Ariadne  up  in  the  air  in  his 
arms  on  the  gallery  at  Vallewis  that  evening?  She 
looked  older  already,  more  mature.  Not  in  person, 
but  in  face,  in  bearing.  The  war  would  soon  be  over. 
Would  she  be  indeed  a  woman  before  it  ended? 

There  was  a  sudden  blare  of  bugles,  a  rattling  of 
drums  up  the  street.  The  regiment  to  which  Philip 
belonged  was  marching.  It  was  a  curious-looking 
regiment.  Philip's  company  and  one  or  two  others 
were  uniformed  in  Confederate  grey,  but  other  com 
panies  had  dressed  themselves  in  accordance  with  their 
fancy  and  there  had  not  yet  been  time  to  make  the 


"SO    RUNS  THE   WORLD   AWAY'     65 

uniforms  alike.  In  only  one  thing  was  there  uni 
formity,  and  that  was  the  cheerful  alacrity  with  which 
the  jolly,  light-hearted  young  men  followed  its  flag. 
It  was  a  sort  of  military  picnic  for  them.  Well,  the 
jollity  and  carelessness  would  be  shot  out  of  the  sur 
vivors  in  a  few.  battles.  A  campaign  or  two  would 
make  all  the  uniforms  of  a  similar  pattern  of  dilapida 
tion.  The  new  flag  would  be  torn  to  rags,  bullet- 
ripped,  shot-slashed,  but  the  courage,  the  daring,  the 
dash  and  zeal  were  abiding  possessions  of  those  men, 
and  nothing  could  ever  abate  them. 

Ariadne  heard  the  music  as  the  column  turned  the 
corner. 

"  Here  comes  the  regiment,"  cried  Philip,  his  face 
ashine.  "  I  promised  to  join  the  company  as  it  came 
up.  Good-bye,  dear,  and  God  bless  you." 

He  strained  her  to  his  breast.  She  threw  her  slen 
der  arms  about  his  neck  and  hung  upon  his  lips  until 
he  tore  himself  away.  Ariadne  thought  she  should 
die  as  she  heard  his  footfall  upon  the  gallery,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  Southern  woman — nay,  the  loving 
woman  everywhere — was  summoned  to  her  aid.  She 
stepped  out  upon  the  gallery  and  ran  down  the  walk, 
stopping  under  the  magnolia  trees  that  over 
shadowed  the  gate,  a  slender  little  figure,  white- 
faced,  clad  in  black.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
heart,  and,  lifting  the  other,  waved  a  little  Confed 
erate  flag  that  she  had  caught  from  the  table  in  the 
hall.  The  soldiers  saw  it  and  laughed  and  cheered. 

"  Good  for  the  little  one !  "  shouted  one  of  them. 

A  little  one  indeed,  with  her  wifehood  light  upon 
her.  By  and  by  down  the  street  came  Philip's  com 
pany  carrying  the  colours.  At  its  head  marched 
young  Oakley,  Mamie  Dylett's  husband.  There 
were  others  there  who  knew  Ariadne.  They  had 
heard  of  her  marriage. 


66  THE   PATRIOTS 

;' Three  cheers  for  Mrs.  Grafton!  "  shouted  one. 

There  wasn't  much  discipline  in  that  army  just 
then.  The  men  learned  that  later  under  fire  in  ways 
that  made  them  never  forget  it,  and  it  was  rather  a 
tumultuous  crowd  of  waving  hats  and  uplifted  guns 
that  swept  on  before  her.  In  all  the  noise  she  had  eyes 
but  for  one  man,  Philip,  dogged,  stern,  not  partaking 
of  the  jollity,  but  smiling  up  at  her  nevertheless.  She 
watched  him  until  she  lost  him  in  the  confusion.  She 
could  stand  no  more.  She  turned  and  ran  to  her  room 
and,  throwing  herself  upon  the  lonely  little  white  bed, 
sobbed  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break; 
sobbed  as  she  had  not  done  when  she  left  her  old 
home,  when  she  had  bidden  farewell  to  her  people, 
when  she  said  good-bye  to  her  dead  grandfather. 

Philip,  Philip,  whom  she  loved,  was  gone  to  the 
wars,  and  she,  like  woman  from  time  immemorial, 
could  only  wait  and  weep.  So  runs  the  world  away ! 

Old  Aunt  Dessy  found  her  there  when  the  dark  had 
fallen.  She  took  her  up  in  her  strong  arms,  undressed 
her  like  a  child,  as  she  had  done  many  times  before, 
and  cuddled  her  to  sleep  on  her  own  broad  black 
bosom. 


BOOK  TWO 
The  Times  that  Tried 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ARMY  OF  NORTHERN  VIRGINIA 

Two  years  had  passed  since  that  day  Philip  Graf  ton 
had  said  good-bye  to  Ariadne  his  wife  and  had  gone 
away  to  the  wars.  In  all  the  hard  campaigning  of 
those  two  years  he  had  done  his  share.  He  had 
marched  and  fought,  he  had  advanced  and  retreated, 
he  had  starved  and  thirsted,  he  had  been  burned  and 
frozen.  He  had  seen  victory  often  and  defeat  some 
times.  Opportunities  for  brilliant  service  had  come  to 
him  and  he  had  availed  himself  of  them.  In  spite  of 
this  and  because  there  was  no  provision  for  quick  pro 
motion  from  the  ranks  for  bravery  and  soldiery  abil 
ity  in  the  Confederate  army — fatal  defect ! — Grafton 
had  not  been  awarded  the  coveted  shoulder  straps, 
although  upon  his  arms  he  sported  the  chevrons  of 
a  sergeant. 

He  had  become,  however,  one  of  the  finest  soldiers 
that  ever  obeyed  a  command.  Two  years  of  march 
ing  and  fighting,  of  drill  and  discipline  in  camp  and 
on  field,  and  under  fire,  had  forged  that  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  into  an  exquisitely  tempered, 
thoroughly  tested  weapon  of  offence  and  defence, 
fitted  to  the  hand  of  Lee  and  used  by  him  with  the 
ease  and  effectiveness  of  a  skilled  swordsman  wielding 
a  Toledo  blade. 

In  that  most  notable  of  all  the  armies  of  the  world 
there  were  literally  hundreds  of  gentlemen  like 
Grafton,  of  birth,  refinement  and  education,  who  had 
acquired  enough  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war  in  their 
two  years  of  service,  under  such  masters  as  Lee,  Long- 

69 


yo  THE    PATRIOTS 

.  ,..* 

street,  Jackson  and  Stuart,  to  entitle  them,  if  capacity 
counted,  to  any  command,  who  were  yet  in  the  ranks 
— and  some  of  them  remained  in  the  ranks  until  the 
final  muster  out !  Better,  it  is  said,  is  an  army  of  stags 
led  by  a  lion  than  an  army  of  lions  led  by  a  stag;  but 
this  was  an  army  of  lions  led  by  a  lion,  and  it  is  no 
disparagement  to  that  gallant  opponent  of  equal  fame 
with  which  the  Army  of  Northen  Virginia  struggled 
upon  a  hundred  fields  and  which  finally  wore  it  down, 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  to  say  that  probably  no 
finer  army  was  ever  assembled  under  one  flag,  ani 
mated  by  one  purpose,  amenable  to  one  man,  than  that 
body  of  soldiers  which  was  born  at  Manassas  and 
died  at  Appomattox — the  followers  of  Lee. 
.  Yet  there  was  rarely  a  time  in  the  four  years  of  its 
history  when  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  not 
hungry;  there  was  rarely  a  time  when  it  was  not  in 
part  at  least  naked.  It  .was  generally  unshod  and 
half-clothed,  the  half  raiment  that  it  wore  being  taken 
from  the  enemy.  Its  arms  were  inferior  in  quality, 
its  powder  was  generally  bad,  its  uniforms  things  to 
be  jeered  at.  In  but  one  thing  did  it  equal  its  bounti 
fully  provided,  thoroughly  equipped  antagonist.  That 
was  its  patriotism,  its  unconquerable  courage.  In  but 
one  thing  did  it  surpass  its  brave  opponent.  That 
was  the  quality  of  its  leadership.  That  was  enough ! 
The  man  of  the  South  was  as  true  a  patriot  in  his  own 
eyes — and  in  mine — as  the  man  of  the  North.  With 
one  his  native  land  for  which  he  fought  was  the  state, 
with  the  other,  the  United  States.  That  was  the  only 
difference.  It  was  to  settle  which  was  right,  prac 
tically  as  well  as  theoretically,  that  the  war  was  prose 
cuted  until  the  last  bitter  end.  The  fact  that  in  the 
argument  of  force  the  final  decision  was  against  the 
Southerner  ought  not,  can  not,  be  allowed  to  impugn 
his  patriotism ! 


ARMY    OF   NORTHERN    VIRGINIA     71 

Another  difference  between  the  Northern  and 
Southern  troops  was  this:  there  were  few  mercenary 
soldiers  in  Lee's  army;  the  Confederates  would  have 
used  them  gladly,  if  they  had  been  available  without 
doubt,  but  there  were  none  to  be  had.  The  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  was  a  homogeneous  force.  There 
were  differences  between  the  Virginia  and  Texas  di 
visions  as  wide  as  the  leagues  which  separated  the 
two  great  states,  but  a  common  purpose,  a  common 
hope  and  a  common  leader  made  them  one  and  the 
same.  And  they  were  all  Americans  of  purest  strain. 
When  it  came  to  fighting  and  dying,  the  blood  of  the 
cavalier  was  not  poured  out  more  freely  than  the 
blood  of  the  mountaineer  or  the  plainsman. 

It  does  no  violence  to  the  well-merited  claims  to 
distinction  of  other  divisions  of  that  army  to  say  that 
perhaps  the  flower  of  them  all  was  that  noble  five 
thousand,  the  Virginia  division  commanded  by 
Pickett,  which  was  a  part  of  Longstreet's  first 
army  corps.  The  fame  of  Longstreet  has  been 
somewhat  obscured  by  that  of  Jackson,  yet  Lee  him 
self  said  that  Longstreet  was  the  best  marcher 
that  he  ever  saw — that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Jackson's  men  were  habitually  called  the  "  foot 
cavalry."  As  for  fighting  ability,  not  even  the  old 
Stonewall  brigade  itself  could  surpass  them.  All 
the  men  of  the  organisation,  from  Armistead, 
Garnett,  Kemper,  and  Corse,  the  brigadiers,  down 
to  the  humblest  private,  felt  proud  to  belong  to 
the  Virginia  division.  There  were  other  Virginia 
regiments  brigaded  with  the  different  regiments  of 
other  state  troops,  but  Pickett's  was  the  only  division 
of  the  army  to  which  none  but  Virginians  were  ad 
mitted.  Its  officers  were  as  jealously  exclusive  in  ad 
mitting  men  to  their  ranks  as  they  were  proud  of  its 
reputation  for  efficiency  and  courage. 


72  THE   PATRIOTS 

Grafton,  like  many  of  his  fellows,  would  rather  be 
a  private  under  Pickett  than  an  officer  under  someone 
else.  •/•  His  was  the  first  regiment  of  Armistead's 
brigade.  The  brigade  lay  at  ease  with  two  others — 
Corse's  brigade,  to  its  eternal  regret,  was  in  the  rear 
guarding  communications — on  the  reverse  slope  of 
a  certain  hill  on  the  afternoon  of  July  3,  1863. 
The  men  lounged  under  the  trees  awaiting  the  order 
to  advance.  In  front  of  them  the  crest  of  the  hill 
which  afforded  them  concealment  and  shelter  blazed 
like  a  volcano  and  thundered  like  a  tornado.  The  re 
sponse  from  the  opposing  hill  was  even  greater,  and 
the  roaring  from  hundreds  of  cannon  shattered  the 
heavens  and  shook  the  earth. 

Pickett's  men  were  waiting  the  order  to  advance, 
eagerly  awaiting.  Across  the  ridges  and  valleys  sur 
rounding  a  little  Pennsylvania  town  for  two  days 
their  brothers  in  arms  had  been  fighting  a  desperate 
battle  with  the  army  of  General  Meade.  Lee  had 
not  succeeded  in  routing  that  army,  but  on  each  day 
he  had  gained  inspiring  successes.  The  Confederates 
hoped  to  crown  their  achievements  by  piercing  the 
center  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  riving  it  asunder, 
shattering  it  and  driving  it  in  disorderly  retreat  on 
this,  the  third  day,  of  the  most  Titanic  conflict  which 
had  been  waged  upon  the  continent. 

The  word  had  been  passed  among  Pickett's  men 
that  Lee  expected  these  Virginians  to  lead  the  assault, 
that  he  depended  upon  them;  and  without  looseness 
of  tongue  or  braggart  boast — which  ill  become  the 
veteran — they  expressed  themselves  as  firmly  re 
solved  not  to  fail  him.  They  knew  that  no  child's 
play  lay  before  them.  The  army  they  were  to  be 
hurled  against  had  usually  been  badly  commanded 
during  its  existence;  its  units  had  frequently  been 
placed  in  untenable  positions;  it  had  often  been  sent 


73 

on  impossible  errands,  by  unskilled,  impracticable 
officers;  but  whenever  there  was  any  real  fighting  to 
be  done  and  it  had  come  in  actual  contact  with  the 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  its  struggle  had  called 
out  to  the  last  limit  the  manhood  and  the  courage  of 
the  great  men  who  followed  the  St.  Andrew's  Cross. 

Just  how  tremendous  was  the  task  to  which  they 
had  been  assigned,  they  could  not  realise  on  that  side 
of  Seminary  Ridge  on  which  they  lay.  Some  of  them 
laughed  and  jested.  Some  of  them  played  games. 
Others  passed  the  time  in  more  quiet  pursuits.  There 
were  many  men  in  many  moods  in  such  an  array,  but 
when  the  time  came  he  who  talked  would  fight 
neither  more  nor  less  determinedly  than  he  who  had 
been  silent.  The  man  who  was  sad  would  go  into 
battle  with  the  same  resolution  as  the  man  who 
was  glad. 

Philip  Grafton  was  one  of  the  quiet  men.  One 
woman  can  usually  fill  the  heart  of  a  man,  but  present 
to  him  before  every  battle  were  two,  Ariadne,  his 
wife  in  the  quiet  home  at  Richmond ;  Kathleen  Kirk- 
wood  in  the  one  in  York.  There  across  those  hills  be 
yond  that  distant  crest  whence  came  the  hurtling  shells 
lay  the  home  of  the  Northern  girl.  Like  a  shuttle  his 
mind  went  back  and  forth  between  Virginia  and 
Pennsylvania.  He  had  seen  Ariadne  a  few  times, 
although  he  might  have  seen  her  a  great  many  more 
than  he  had  if  he  had  so  willed.  But  he  gladly  wel 
comed  the  press  of  duties  which  kept  him  with  the 
army  and  only  upon  rare  occasions  did  he  ask  for  a 
furlough  to  Richmond. 

Oftentimes  when  the  army  was  near  the  capital 
Ariadne  would  have  ridden  Bonnibell  out  to  see  her 
husband,  but  she  had  learned  that  Philip  did  not 
approve  of  women  in  camp  and  his  lightest  wish  was 
law  to  her.  She,  too,  had  bided  her  time.  The  two 


74  THE    PATRIOTS 

years  had  made  of  her  not  a  soldier,  but  a  woman. 
The  privations  that  afterward  came  to  the  South  at 
that  time  had  not  been  keenly  felt  by  the  people  of 
that  land.  There  came  a  time  when  the  women  de 
nied  themselves  the  necessaries  of  life  to  feed  the 
soldiers,  and  some  starved  to  death  to  put  bread  in  the 
mouth  of  the  men  at  arms,  but  that  time  was  still 
in  the  future.  There  were,  of  course,  many  luxuries 
with  which  the  women  of  the  South  were  forced  to 
dispense,  and  the  number  of  these  daily  increased  with 
the  growing  stringency  of  the  life-throttling  block 
ade,  but  of  the  real  necessaries  there  was  yet  an  abun 
dance.  Grafton's  wife  had  plenty  to  eat,  a  comfort 
able  place  to  live  in,  and,  chiefest  of  all  human 
blessings,  work  to  do. 

She  had  developed  amazingly  physically  and  men 
tally,  especially  in  the  last  year.  Grafton,  lying  on 
the  reverse  slope  of  Seminary  Ridge  at  Gettysburg, 
reflected  that  he  had  not  seen  her  for  nearly  a  year. 
How  pretty  she  had  been  when  he  last  looked  upon 
her !  He  was  wondering  how  she  looked  now.  She 
would  be  a  beautiful  woman  some  day,  he  thought, 
and  she  was  his.  No  one  could  be  more  completely 
devoted  to  another  than  she  to  him.  If  he  could 
only  return  it !  He  still  cherished  an  ideal  adoration 
for  Kathleen  Kirkwood.  He  was  not  of  a  race  which 
changes  its  livery  of  heart  lightly,  but  he  would  not 
have  been  human  if  he  had  not  taken  satisfaction  in 
Ariadne's  growing  beauty.  He  pictured  her  in  the 
virginal  whiteness  of  her  bed-chamber  which  he 
himself  had  so  fitted  for  her  at  her  request.  He  saw 
her  standing  under  the  magnolia  trees  at  the  gate 
waiting. 

Deep  down  in  Philip's  heart  a  change  was  work 
ing.  Use,  habit,  custom,  still  kept  him  true  to  the 
Northern  girl,  but  Ariadne  was  dearer  to  him  than 


ARMY    OF   NORTHERN    VIRGINIA     75 

ever  before.  The  long  letters  moiled  with  her  kisses 
which  she  sent  him  by  every  available  means  were 
so  passionately  sweet,  the  revelation  of  her  heart  had 
been  so  frank  and  so  innocent,  that  no  man  could 
fail  to  be  affected  by  them.  At  first  she  had  prattled 
on  the  pages  like  the  child  she  was,  but  as  she  grew 
older  a  certain  sweet  reserve  crept  into  her  writing 
that  piqued  him,  aroused  his  curiosity,  stimulated  his 
affection.  She  could  not  conceal  her  adoration  for 
the  man,  yet  she  checked  herself  when  she  began  to 
dwell  upon  it.  Her  letters  were  full  of  stops,  sen 
tences  unended,  phrases  broken,  with  tales  begun  that 
were  not  finished.  Ariadne  was  very  real  to  Philip, 
and  Kathleen  Kirkwood  was  only  a  memory,  a 
dream.  If  things  should  go  on  as  they  had  the  real 
would  oust  the  remembrance,  the  concrete  fact  would 
shatter,  as  it  always  does,  the  abstraction. 

Poor  little  Ariadne !  How  she  tried  to  be  worthy 
of  her  husband,  and  how  unworthy  felt  that  man  who 
could  as  yet  make  no  adequate  return  for  that  devo 
tion.  Ariadne  was  not  happy  in  the  situation ;  neither 
was  she  satisfied.  No  one  had  dreamed  the  war 
would  last  so  long.  Grafton  was  in  no  hurry  to  claim 
his  wife,  she  realised  painfully.  He  did  not  come 
so  often  to  see  her  as  he  might.  Young  husbands 
would  burst  in  upon  other  young  wives  of  her  ac 
quaintance,  sweep  them  to  the  hearts  that  beat  only 
for  them  in  a  whirlwind  of  kisses,  linger  for  a  few 
hours  and  ride  away.  Philip  came  so  infrequently 
and  stayed  so  short  a  time.  When  he  was  with  her, 
although  he  was  kindness  and  consideration  itself, 
there  was  something  lacking.  She  thrilled  to  the 
pressure  of  his  lips,  but  her  own  kisses  evoked  no 
response.  Yet  Philip  seemed  devoted  enough,  his 
letters  were  gentle,  tender,  but  she  missed  something. 
Her  passion  struck  no  spark  of  fire  from  his  heart. 


7<£  THE   PATRIOTS 

Poor  Ariadne  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter. 
She  fancied  that  she  herself  was  at  fault  in  some 
way.  She  would  not  see  anything  wrong  with  her 
idol,  and  so  she  redoubled  her  efforts  to  please. 

It  was  touching;  it  was  pitiful.  Grafton  strove  to 
assume  a  virtue  which  he  could  not  exhibit,  but  his 
success  was  not  apparent.  By  and  by  a  fear  began 
to  possess  him  that  some  day  she  would  find  out  the 
truth,  and  that  would  break  her  heart.  In  that  fear 
he  came  less  than  ever  to  see  her,  although  he  tried 
to  make  his  letters  doubly  affectionate.  Love  that  is 
strong  as  death  is  effortless,  and  the  attempt  was  a 
failure. 

Yet  Ariadne  was  not  altogether  unhappy.  She 
resolutely  dismissed  her  vague  suspicions  so  far  as  she 
could.  She  set  herself  to  dispel  her  dissatisfaction. 
She  chided  herself  for  feeling  that  something  was 
lacking  in  her  love  story,  and  always  she  blamed  her 
self  for  an  unworthiness  which  did  not  permit  her  to 
measure  up  to  the  high  stature  in  which  she  had 
imagined  him.  If  she  were  different,  he  would  be 
also.  Alas,  love  knows  no  difference  of  that  kind. 

She  wrote  him  daily  letters,  taking  advantage  of 
every  opportunity  to  .send  him  a  little  bundle  of 
closely  written  sheets,  and  she  treasured  the  missives, 
brief  and  infrequent,  but  kind — always  that — written 
on  marches,  by  camp  fires,  prayer  on  the  eve  of  bat 
tle,  after  the  fighting  assurance  that  she  received 
from  her  husband.  She  had  work  to  do.  There  was 
plenty  of  work  for  the  women  of  Richmond  in  mak 
ing  clothing  for  the  soldiers,  in  knitting  socks  for 
them,  in  making  bandages  for  the  wounded.  And 
Ariadne  kept  Philip  well  provided  for.  Uncon 
sciously  she  felt  some  of  the  brooding  care  of  a 
mother  in  her  heart — that  child ! — as  she  sewed  and 
stitched  for  her  absent  soldier.  There  were  other 


ARMY    OF   NORTHERN   VIRGINIA     77 

opportunities  for  service,  too,  like  the  privilege  of 
assisting  the  doctors  and  nurses  in  the  hospitals  when 
some  great  battle  strained  the  resources  of  the  proud 
little  city  beyond  its  capacity. 

Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  opportunity  to 
work  she  and  many  another  woman  in  the  South 
would  have  died  of  nervous  anxiety.  After  every 
action,  with  thousands  of  her  sisters,  how  she  scanned 
the  papers  for  the  long  lists  of  killed,  wounded  and 
missing,  looking  with  a  stopped  heart  for  the  be 
loved  name.  She  thanked  God  night  and  morning 
that  she  had  never  read  her  husband's  name  in  the 
list  of  heroes  who  had  passed  beyond,  and  she  remem 
bered  him  with  a  fervor  and  fervency  born  of  love 
and  faith  and  prayed  God  to  watch  over  and  care  for 
the  one  she  loved  best  on  earth.  Nor  was  her  de 
votion  selfish,  for  in  her  petitions  she  included  all 
the  men  and  women  who  in  their  several  stations  with 
equal  courage  were  fighting  for  their  country.  Many 
a  soldier  on  the  field  was  nerved  to  higher  deed  at  the 
thought  of  some  woman  at  home  who  held  him  in 
her  heart  of  hearts  and  told  God  of  her  feelings  and 
her  hopes  for  him — and  one  of  them  was  Philip. 

News  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  had  reached 
Richmond  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  begun.  The 
old  men  and  boys  and  all  the  women  there  knew  that 
Lee  and  his  legions  were  being  hurled  upon  the 
Federal  troops  in  the  Pennsylvania  hills.  Ariadne 
had  learned  that  Pickett's  division  had  not  been  en 
gaged  during  the  famous  fighting  of  the  first  two 
days  of  the  struggle.  She  was  enough  of  a  soldier — 
every  woman  in  the  South  and  many  in  the  North 
had  learned  the  principles  of  military  manoeuvring, 
strategy  and  tactics  in  those  days — to  know  that  the 
battle  would  not  be  ended  without  the  Virginia  divi 
sion  being  permitted  to  share  in  it.  She  guessed, 


78  THE   PATRIOTS 

as  many  a  daughter  of  the  Old  Dominion,  that  for 
a  fresh  division  like  that  of  Pickett's  some  desperate 
endeavour  would  be  appointed. 

She  spent  the  hours  of  that  long  afternoon  on  her 
knees  in  prayer  for  the  man  she  loved,  and  for  all 
those  dear  to  every  other  woman,  for  the  great  cap 
tain  and  his  men.  In  the  fervency  of  her  devotion 
she  wrestled  with  the  Divine  as  Jacob  at  Bethel 
wrestled  with  the  angel.  Well  Philip  and  his  com 
rades  needed  those  prayers.  If  ever  men  were  placed 
in  a  situation  of  extreme  peril  and  unsurmountable 
danger,  it  was  this  Virginia  division,  which  sprang  to 
its  feet  at  the  call  of  its  different  captains,  and  in  three 
long  lines  slowly  mounted  the  slope  and  stood  upon 
the  ridge  amid  the  hot  and  now  silent  cannon  staring 
down  the  smoke-filled  valley  spread  before  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OH,  THE   WILD   CHARGE  THEY  MADE! 

FRONTING  them  a  mile  away  rose  another  range  of 
hills  roughly  paralleling  the  ridge  upon  which  they 
stood.  The  ground  sloped  gently  down  from  their 
feet  until  it  met  a  country  road  running  diagonally 
upon  a  slight  rise  through  the  valley.  On  the  east 
side  of  the  road  there  was  a  dip  and  then  a  sudden 
rise — a  partial  ravine  or  swale — in  the  ground  which 
thereafter  rose  gently  by  easy  ascents  to  the  top  of  the 
opposite  line  of  hills. 

Far  to  the  left,  bathed  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  of 
the  long  midsummer  afternoon,  the  sky  above  them 
bright  with  light,  not  a  cloud  floating  overhead, 
lay  the  buildings  of  a  little  Pennsylvania  town. 
Church  spires  rose  above  it  pointing  heavenward — 
as  spires  should — while  upon  the  earth  beneath  men 
played  the  game  of  hell.  In  front  of  and  to  the 
right  of  the  Virginians  lay  a  ruined  peach  orchard, 
to  the  left  of  that  what  had  been  a  wheat  field. 
Clumps  of  trees  here  and  there  dotted  the  valley. 
Farmhouses  with  huge  barns  and  outbuildings  at 
tached  clung  along  the  road.  Save  for  a  faint  blue 
haze,  the  light  mist  of  smoke  that  still  hung  over  the 
valley,  the  scene  was  as  peaceful  as  it  had  been  four 
days  before  when  the  converging  of  great  armies 
upon  this  field  had  not  been  dreamed  of. 

Topping  the  ridge  upon  the  other  side  were  long 
lines  of  men  in  blue.  They  were  not  distinguishable 
to  the  Virginians  save  as  thin  streaks  of  dark  colour 
against  the  yellow  earth  or  the  green  grass.  These 

79 


go  THE   PATRIOTS 

men  occupied  positions  a  little  below  the  crest  of  that 
opposing  range  of  hills.  Along  the  line  at  intervals 
flagstaffs  upreared  themselves;  banners  bright  with 
stripes  and  stars  fluttered  gaily  in  the  wind.  Against 
the  skyline,  wherever  trees  permitted,  great  guns  were 
silhouetted.  The  smoke  was  thickest  about  the  guns, 
but  the  breeze  blowing  down  the  valley  from  the 
north  was  rapidly  driving  it  away. 

Two  great  armies  for  two  long  hot  summer  days 
had  been  tearing  at  each  other's  throats  in  a  terrific 
death  grapple.  Every  foot  of  that  valley  had  been 
fought  over.  The  peach  orchard  was  almost  cut  to 
pieces  by  the  stream  of  bullets  that  had  swept  through 
it.  The  wheat  field  had  been  trampled  into  a  sodden 
mass  of  mire  whose  solvent  had  been  the  blood  of 
men.  In  the  barns  and  outhouses  were  great  gaping 
holes  that  told  of  bursting  shells,  and  some  that  had 
been  happy  homes  of  yesterday  were  now  open  to 
the  sky  in  smouldering  ruins.  Not  a  square  yard 
of  earth  scarcely  that  had  not  welcomed  to  its  dust 
what  had  once  been  a  man,  and  many  of  these  square 
yards  still  upbore  their  dead  tenants. 

Off  to  the  right  were  two  steeper  hills,  the  Round 
Tops.  Not  Chickamauga  itself  would  see  a  deadlier 
struggle  than  had  taken  place  the  day  before  to  seize 
those  conical  projections.  Well  was  the  spot  beneath 
them  called  the  Devil's  Den,  for  the  place  had  been 
piled  so  thick  with  slain  that  they  had  hidden  the 
shamed  face  of  Mother  Earth,  and  men  might  walk 
from  one  end  to  the  other  upon  them  where  they  still 
lay  unheeded.  Let  the  dead  bury  the  dead  is  an  in 
junction  to  which  battles  always  give  heed. 

A  strange  silence,  a  solemn  hush,  had  fallen  over 
the  whole  scene  as  if  nature  itself  took  breath  with 
a  heart  beating  stilly  before  the  approaching  shock 
of  charging  troops.  Not  a  single  gun  roared  its 


WILD    CHARGE   THEY    MADE!       81 

hoarse  note  of  defiance  and  sped  its  missile  of  de 
struction  toward  the  foe  on  either  hill.  To  the  north, 
to  the  south,  even  around  the  great  grey  crescent 
encircling  the  compacter  blue  lines  to  the  far  east, 
the  combat  had  ceased  as  if  by  unanimous  consent. 
There  was  a  concentration  of  interest  where  there 
was  a  concentration  of  force. 

Those  Virginians  of  the  valley,  the  knightliest  race 
upon  the  continent,  were  about  to  attempt  a  deed 
which  should  be  celebrated  in  song  and  story,  which 
for  hardihood  and  courage  was  never  to  be  sur 
passed.  They  were  going  to  charge  and  break  that 
waiting  blue  line.  The  fate  of  the  Confederacy  was 
to  be  determined  then  and  there.  With  these  brave 
men  under  the  stars  and  stripes  brushed  aside, 
routed,  driven  headlong  in  defeat,  with  that  splendid 
army  crumpled  and  crushed,  the  result  would  be  cer 
tain.  New  York,  Philadelphia,  even  Washington 
itself,  would  be  at  the  disposal  of  Lee.  If  the  Vir 
ginians  failed,  all  the  desperate  fighting  of  two  years 
which  had  gone  before  would  have  been  unavailing. 
It  would  all  have  to  be  begun  over  again,  and  begun 
under  circumstances  and  conditions  which  held  little 
promise  of  success.  Failure  wrote  a  doom  sentence 
large  upon  the  wall  which  the  prescient  alone  might 
read — a  doom  sentence  no  less  accurate  because  the 
millions  could  not,  or  would  not,  understand.  Yet 
the  soldiers  who  were  there  did  dimly  and  in  part 
discern  the  meaning  of  the  moment,  the  result  for 
which  they  so  proudly  endeavoured. 

Ordinary  troops  detailed  to  lead  a  charge  like  that 
would  have  seen  only  the  immediate  issue  to  the 
effort,  but  those  Virginians  were  different.  As  they 
realised  what  success  meant,  they  saw  in  part,  at 
least,  the  meaning  of  failure.  They  were  not  going 
to  fail!  It  was  a  forlorn  hope  perhaps,  but  they 


82  THE   PATRIOTS 

intended  to  convert  it  into  a  real  thing.  To  achieve 
the  impossible? — they  were  accustomed  to  do  that! 

There  was  some  hesitation  at  first.  Not  hesitation 
among  the  men,  oh,  no!  They  were  like  eager 
hounds  held  in  leash  with  the  quarry  before  them. 
The  great  soldier  who  commanded  the  corps,  better 
judge  than  the  rank  and  file,  hesitated  to  give  the 
order  which  devoted  the  five  thousand  Virginians  to 
annihilation  as  he  saw  it.  Their  own  Virginia  gen 
eral,  stark,  strong,  his  auburn  hair  falling  on  his 
shoulders,  his  cap  raked  over  his  ear,  looking  the 
dashing  cavalier  that  he  was  on  his  great  black  horse, 
rode  up  to  the  tall  bearded  man  standing  with  his 
staff  in  advance  of  the  line.  There  was  a  little 
colloquy  between  them.  Would  Longstreet  give  the 
order,  the  order  which  must  be  given?  No!  He 
stood  silent.  Wiser  than  the  rest,  he  recognised  here 
an  impossibility  to  which  even  the  Virginians  were 
unequal. 

"  I  shall  lead  my  men  forward  then,  General," 
said  Pickett.  Longstreet's  lips  could  not  frame  the 
fatal  command,  but  he  bowed  his  head,  and  Pickett 
turned  away  and  rode  to  the  front  of  his  division. 

A  quiver  ran  along  the  line.  The  watching  Fed 
erals  a  mile  away  heard  the  cheering — the  old-time 
Rebel  yell — marked  it  rise  and  fall  and  die  away. 
The  ranks  stood  immobile.  "  Attention!  "  Another 
word  of  command.  The  guns  crashed  against  the 
shoulders.  "Forward!"  The  long  grey  line 
stepped  as  one  man.  There  was  no  hurry,  no  crowd 
ing,  no  haste.  They  had  both  a  stage  and  an  audi 
ence,  those  men,  for  their  grim  play — the  greatest 
of  tragedies.  They  were  determined  to  show  to  the 
largest  assemblage  of  spectators  ever  gathered  to 
gether  on  the  continent  to  witness  a  drama  of  life 
and  death,  that  they  were  as  proficient  in  the  niceties 


WILD    CHARGE    THEY    MADE!       83 

of  the  soldier's  art  as  they  were  striking  exemplifica 
tions  of  its  manhood  and  valour. 

Taking  direction  from  the  guiding  regiment,  the 
men,  their  arms  at  a  right  shoulder,  coolly  dressed 
their  lines  upon  the  battle  flags  as  if  on  parade.  Some 
of  those  banners  flapped  broadly  in  the  gentle  breeze, 
others  were  mere  shreds  of  colour  from  splintered 
staffs.  They  had  been  torn  to  pieces  on  many  a  bat 
tle  field.  In  three  long  lines,  each  brigade  forming 
one,  Garnett  in  the  lead,  Armistead  in  the  centre, 
Kemper  bringing  up  the  rear,  the  grey-clad  men  of 
Virginia  softly  descended  the  hill. 

One  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  pairs  of  eyes 
stared  at  them  as  they  left  their  places  in  the  line. 
They  made  a  front  about  four  hundred  yards  long. 
To  the  left  of  them  were  two  divisions  of  sup 
porting  troops,  mainly  North  Carolinians,  with  bri 
gades  of  Tennesseeans  and  Mississippians,  and 
another  Virginia  brigade  with  two  Alabama  regi 
ments  under  Pettigrew  and  Trimble.  They  had 
fought  and  suffered  severely  in  the  battles  of  the  days 
before,  but  with  spirit  undaunted,  emulous  of  the 
Virginians,  they,  too,  dressed  their  lines  and  moved 
confidently  toward  the  enemy.  In  rear  of  either 
flank  of  the  long  lines  marched  brigades  in  solid 
column.  There  was  no  ruffling  of  drums  or  blaring 
of  bugles.  Even  the  commands  were  given  in  an 
ordinary  tone  of  voice,  as  if  the  occasion  was  quite 
an  everyday  affair.  The  pomp  and  circumstance  of 
which  the  poet  sings,  on  which  the  romancer  dwells, 
were  not  in  evidence.  These  men  meant  business. 
The, only  bits  of  colour,  the  only  display,  were  in 
the  fluttering  battle  flags.  Each  line  of  dusty  men 
was  capped  with  a  hedge  of  steel.  The  sunlight 
sparkled  from  polished  bayonet  or  was  reflected  from 
glittering  blade.  The  shouts  with  which  the  order 


84  THE   PATRIOTS 

to  march  had  been  greeted  gave  place  to  silence. 
Quickly,  firmly,  silently,  the  men  pressed  on. 

Grafton's  heart  was  beating  like  a  drum.  The 
excitement  of  the  advance  was  getting  into  his  blood. 
The  stillness  seemed  appalling  to  him.  He  longed 
for  the  moment  when  the  silence  would  be  broken  by 
the  roar  of  a  gun.  His  soul  craved  the  instant  when 
the  common  time  would  be  quickened,  when  the 
march  should  become  a  run,  when  into  the  blue 
smoke,  bayonet  in  hand,  he  could  throw  himself 
breast  to  breast  with  the  enemy.  Anything  was  bet 
ter  than  this  slow,  deliberate  approach. 

He  glanced  down  the  line  taking  note  of  faces. 
Some  were  as  white  as  death,  others  engorged  with 
blood.  Here  and  there  a  lip  was  drawn  back  over 
the  teeth  in  an  angry  tiger-like  snarl.  Some  faces 
wore  grim  smiles  of  pleasure.  There  was  a  forced 
gaiety  about  others.  Some  marched  with  frowning 
brows,  dogged  lines  about  firm,  tense  mouths.  They 
went  slowly  down  the  hills,  and  the  descent  was  easy, 
yet  some  already  breathed  heavily,  panting  as  if 
after  a  hard  run. 

"God!"  whispered  a  nervous  recruit,  "why  in 
hell  don't  they  begin?" 

"  Wait  a  bit,  you'll  get  all  you  want,"  a  veteran 
replied. 

"  And  'twill  be  hell,  all  right,"  whispered  another 
as  they  stumbed  over  the  uneven  ground. 

"  Silence  in  the  ranks !  "  cried  an  officer,  closing  the 
files.  His  voice  was  much  as  usual,  but  to  Grafton  it 
sounded  shrill  and  high,  as  if  a  premonitory  note  of 
warning  ran  through  it.  Nothing  had  yet  happened 
to  cause  any  confusion,  but  the  men  instinctively  be 
gan  to  crowd  together  a  little — the  natural  craving 
for  a  human  touch  in  emergency.  The  front  wav 
ered,  curved  in  and  out,  was  in  danger  of  breaking. 


WILD    CHARGE   THEY    MADE!       85 

"  Back  on  the  left,  there !  "  said  Grafton  sharply 
from  his  position  on  the  right,  as  his  eye  ran  down 
his  company  front.  "  Open  out  and  keep  your  dress. 
Let  those  Yankees  see  that  we  can  march  as  well  as 
fight.  Easy,  now;  that's  better!  He  was  gratified 
to  find  that  he  could  speak  easily  and  naturally,  and 
more  gratified  to  see  the  men  relax  their  pressure  and 
line  dress  on  the  guide  again. 

So  that  devoted  band  went  down  the  hill  carrying 
the  hopes  of  six  millions  of  people,  the  focus  of 
observation  for  every  soldier  on  either  side.  Pres 
ently  they  had  advanced  far  enough  to  uncover  the 
crest  they  had  just  left.  They  could  hear  quick  move 
ments  back  there,  the  trampling  of  horses,  the  creak 
ing  of  wheels,  a  sharp  word  of  command.  Guns  were 
coming  after  them,  a  battery  of  light  artillery  hastily 
gathered  together  was  following  them.  And 
the  cannon  on  the  ridge  behind  them  were  making 
ready.  Hark,  what  was  that!  A  roar  from  the 
rear  of  them,  the  scream  of  a  shell  through  the  air 
close  above  the  advancing  lines.  The  recruit  ducked 
his  head. 

"  That's  from  our  own  guns,  boy,"  said  the  vet 
eran  composedly;  "they  are  covering  the  advance. 
iYou  needn't  fear  that." 

"  I  don't  fear  anything,"  cried  the  recruit,  his  pale 
face  flushing. 

"  Well,  by  G — ,  sonny,  I  wish  I  could  say  the 
same,"  returned  a  nervous-looking  man  who  always 
went  into  battle  chockful  of  the  most  unpleasant 
emotions,  which  he  promptly  forgot  when  the  actual 
fighting  began. 

"  Wisht  I  was  a  woman  or  a  baby,"  exclaimed 
another,  with  a  low  laugh.  His  reputation  for  brav 
ery  was  as  high  as  any  in  the  regiment. 

"Why  don't  the  Yankees  begin?"  asked  the  re- 


86  THE    PATRIOTS 

cruit,  manfully  trying  to  keep  his  teeth  from 
chattering. 

"Silence,  there!    Silence!  " 

The  talking  stopped  instantly.  Truth  to  tell, 
others  than  the  newly  enlisted  were  wondering  why 
the  enemy  delayed  opening  on  so  fine  a  target  as  the 
long  grey  lines  presented. 

What  was  that? 

"  Here  it  comes  I"  cried  one  as  a  puff  of  smoke  rose 
suddenly  into  the  air  from  the  crest  of  the  other  hill 
and  was  as  quickly  blown  aside  in  a  great  white 
cloud.  The  report  of  the  discharge  came  faintly  to 
them.  Then  there  was  a  nearer  sound,  a  dull,  hor 
rible,  sickening  thud,  the  scream  of  a  horse.  The 
colonel  of  one  of  the  regiments  shot  into  the  air  and 
fell  back  with  his  horse,  both  killed  by  the  solid  shot. 
The  men  of  the  second  brigade  saw  it  all  plainly.  A 
shiver  ran  through  the  lines,  yet  there  was  relief  in 
it,  too.  The  Yankees  had  begun.  Now  it  was  real 
fighting.  There  was  a  mighty  surge  forward  in 
answer  to  a  common  eager  impulse. 

"  Steady,  steady !  "  came  warning  voices  from  the 
rear  of  the  lines. 

The  men  clamped  their  jaws  together  and  instinc 
tively  quickened  their  step.  In  another  moment  they 
would  be  out  of  hand  on  the  run,  and  the  time  for 
that  had  not  yet  come. 

"  Back  there,  back  there !  Dress  on  the  colours !  " 
cried  the  sergeants.  "  Step,  step !  "  they  shouted  in 
the  old  familiar  way  as  if  on  a  practice  march. 

Another  roar  came  from  the  batteries  in  front  as 
all  the  guns  along  the  ridge  gave  tongue.  They 
were  firing  solid  shot  and  making  great  gaps  in  the 
lines  now. 

"  Close  up,  men,  close  up  the  ranks !  Dress  on  the 
colours !  Steady,  boys,  steady !  " 


WILD    CHARGE    THEY    MADE!       87 

There  was  plenty  of  smoke  blowing  down  that 
valley  now.  Enough  to  distort  but  not  sufficient  to 
obscure.  There  was  no  concealment  possible,  no  way 
of  escape,  from  that  hail  of  iron  sweeping  the  hills, 
nothing  to  do  but  go  on,  straight  into  the  heart  of 
that  infernal  cataclysm  of  destruction,  to  oppose 
frail  human  breasts  to  lead  and  steel.  Suddenly  the 
deep  diapason  of  the  cannonade  was  shattered  by 
sharper  sounds  close  at  hand.  These  were 
shells. 

A  long  gap,  half  a  dozen  files  front,  was  suddenly 
ripped  out  of  Grafton's  company.  The  survivors 
reeled  in  closing  the  rent  in  the  living,  line.  New 
hands  grasped  the  colours  from  a  falling  bearer. 
And  still  the  great  advance  went  on  in  a  rain  of 
blood  and  death. 

But  this  could  not  last.  Would  they  never  come 
to  grapple  with  their  enemies?  Yes,  thank  God! 
Before  them  rose  a  series  of  blue  dots — skirmishers. 
There  was  a  sudden  popping,  snapping,  crackling  of 
small  arms,  a  sound  different  from  the  thunder  of 
the  cannonade.  It  seemed  almost  ridiculous  in  the 
greater  tumult.  Yet  the  sharp  staccato  was  mur 
derous.  They  were  just  beyond  the  Emmitsburg 
road.  A  word,  a  yell,  a  cheer,  a  charge,  and  the 
blue  dots  scampered  up  the  hill.  Not  all  of  them, 
however,  for  many  writhed  on  the  grass  or  lay  quite 
still,  past  all  fighting  forever.  The  grey  line  tram 
pled  over  them  relentlessly.  Their  eyes  were  fixed 
above  at  the  flame-shot,  smoke-covered  crest.  They 
saw  nothing  of  what  was  under  foot.  There  was 
some  shelter  across  the  road  in  the  little  ravine. 
Thank  God  for  it !  The  line  plunged  for  it,  reached 
it,  halted  panting.  They  had  come  two-thirds  of  the 
way — come  with  a  fearful  loss,  and  the  worst  part 
was  still  before  them.  The  line  was  rectified  and 


88  THE   PATRIOTS 

straightened  out,  the  men  closed  in  and  made  ready 
for  a  final  dash. 

It  had  been  bad  enough  before,  yet  what  had 
passed  was  as  nothing  to  what  was  to  come.  The 
Confederate  guns  were  in  a  continuous  roar  behind 
them.  The  air  was  rent  and  torn  with  screaming 
shell.  Yet  the  Federal  cannon  fire  had  slackened, 
although  now  the  rifles  blazed  a  continuous  death  rat 
tle  from  the  entrenchments  they  were  facing.  They 
knew  the  reason  for  the  sudden  silence  of  the  cannon ; 
they  knew  that  every  smoking  gun  would  be  charged 
to  the  muzzle  with  the  deadliest  projectile  then 
known  to  man,  canister.  That  so  soon  as  they  ap 
peared  out  of  their  last  cover  each  gun  would  make 
of  their  bodies  a  target.  What  of  that?  That  was 
to  be  expected.  Battles  are  not  won  without  death. 
O  sunny  Southland,  for  whose  liberties  we  fight,  we 
who  are  about  to  die  salute  you ! 

Belts  were  tightened,  guns  were  looked  to,  im 
pedimenta  were  thrown  aside.  Hands  gripped 
tighter  the  flagstaffs.  The  quick  breath  came  more 
quickly,  hearts  beat  faster.  "  Forward !  "  The 
hoarse  words  ran  along  their  contracted  lines.  Like 
the  dragon  teeth  of  Cadmus'  sowing  those  Vir 
ginians  burst  out  of  the  earth  and  ran  toward  the 
Federal  line,  so  near,  yet  so  far  away.  With  a  tre 
mendous  roar  every  cannon,  every  rifle,  every  musket, 
opened  upon  the  doomed  men.  A  tornado  of  bullets 
sw.ept  down  upon  them.  Nearly  every  horse  ridden 
by  a  field  officer  was  killed  on  the  instant.  Men  fell 
and  lay  in  long  windrows  as  if  cut  by  a  gigantic 
scythe.  It  was  such  a  battle  storm  as  no  human  body 
ought  to  be  asked  to  face,  as  no  human  body  could 
be  expected  to  endure. 

But  these  men  faced  it  and  they  endured  it.  The 
division  off  on  the  left  bending  before  the  storm  had 


89 

obliqued  away  till  it  had  lost  touch  with  them,  al 
though  it  still  advanced.  A  great  gap  was  opened 
between  them  and  the  Virginians — a  fatal  breach 
since  it  exposed  the  flank  of  Pickett's  men.  Also  the 
progress  of  the  Carolinians  had  been  a  little  slower 
than  the  Virginia  advance.  Garnett  was  down,  his 
brigade,  too,  involuntarily  inclined  toward  the  left 
as  rushes  bend  before  a  tempest.  Bodies  of  troops 
from  the  left  of  the  Union  line  swarmed  forward, 
taking  Garnett's  brigade  in  reverse.  Where,  in 
God's  name,  were  the  supports?  With  a  wild 
swerve  the  men  in  grey  turned  to  the  left,  but  in  their 
avoidance  of  the  death-dealing  torrent  they  did  not 
forget  to  go  forward.  To  go  forward,  that  was 
their  end  in  life.  Advance,  always  the  advance. 

The  seconds  were  minutes,  the  minutes  hours,  and 
still  that  rapidly  withering  body  of  men  climbed  that 
fatal  hill.  Thousands  on  every  ridge  watched  the 
great  drama.  The  spectators  shouted,  screamed, 
prayed,  laughed,  cursed,  while  into  the  battle  smoke 
the  gods  in  grey  and  the  gods  in  blue  plunged  madly 
for  the  final  test.  Hearts  stopped  beating.  Would 
they  make  it? 

Would  they  make  it?  The  men  on  the  hill  now  so 
near  stone  wall  or  rail  fence  answered.  That  was 
Armistead's  great  voice.  What  godlike  power  had 
he  to  make  himself  heard  in  that  infernal  clamour? 
The  orders  to  form  a  column  penetrated  the  brains 
of  the  soldiers  as  by  some  telepathic  transmission. 
Instinctively  they  obeyed.  There  had  been  a  constant 
concentration  of  the  survivors  upon  the  flags.  Bearer 
after  bearer  had  been  shot  down,  but  always  willing 
hands  had  seized  each  banner.  They  were  huddled 
together  in  front  of  the  column.  Garnett  was  gone. 
By  Heaven,  his  brigade,  too,  was  gone,  melted  away. 
A  few  stragglers  fired  into  the  faces  of  the  men  in 


90  THE   PATRIOTS 

blue  so  close  at  hand  and  fell,  making  way  for  the 
second  line.  Into  the  reek  and  smoke  and  whirling 
mass  of  men  Armistead  burst  with  his  heroes.  A  few 
feet  intervened  between  him  and  a  stone  wall.  There 
stood  the  Union  guns — silent  at  last.  The  Virginians 
were  shooting  now,  their  hearts  exulting  to  be  within 
range.  The  blue  line  swerved.  It  was  gone.  "  For 
ward,  forward !  "  deliriously  cried  the  officers. 

The  grey  line  advancing,  the  Blue  men  retreating, 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  figure  on  the  stone  wall,  a  sword 
in  hand,  his  hat  perched  upon  the  point,  his  eyes 
aflame,  an  incarnation  of  war.  A  general  officer 
on  foot  like  a  private.  He  was  yelling  like  a 
demoniac.  It  was  Armistead.  Behind  him  the  flags 
and  a  few,  oh,  God,  a  mere  handful  of  men!  The 
Union  line  was  breaking,  it  was  broken,  it  was  gone ! 
They  were  victorious ! 

One  hundred  men  burst  over  a  stone  fence  cheer 
ing  madly.  In  front  of  them  stood  a  gun;  its  gun 
ners  lay  dead  about  it.  One  slight  boyish  figure,  pale 
as  death,  his  clothing  red-marked  and  gory,  held  the 
lockstring.  "  Webb  .  .  I'll  give  them  one  more 
shot,"  they  heard  him  cry,  as  Gushing  discharged 
the  piece  and  fell  dead  upon  the  gun  trail.  Armis 
tead,  too,  is  down.  Marking  the  high  tide  of  that 
charge  he  falls. 

A  few  score  men  in  the  Union  lines.  Where  were 
the  rest?  God  Almighty,  how  long?  Mercifully  the 
issue  was  not  delayed.  Out  of  the  smoke  and  dust 
of  battle  a  blue-clad  force  hurled  itself  upon  the 
remnant  of  the  Virginians.  A  hail  of  musketry  was 
poured  upon  them.  Grafton  felt  something  hit  him 
once,  twice,  thrice.  He  was  a  dead  man,  yet  he  kept 
his  feet  and  thrust  savagely  with  his  bayonet  in  the 
smoke.  He  felt  it  thud  against  something  soft  that 
gave  way  as  he  struck  and  struck.  He  shouted  in 


"It  was  Armistead.      Behind   him    the    flags  and  a   few, 
oh,  God,  a  mere  handful  of  men  !  " 


WILD   CHARGE   THEY    MADE!       91 

triumph,  he  would  not  die  alone.  He  held  on  to  the 
gunbutt,  striving  unavailingly  to  withdraw  the 
bayonet  from  a  falling  figure.  He  heard  voices  all 
about  him. 

"  Surrender !    It's  all  over!    You're  beaten !  " 

"  Never  1 "  he  cried,  wrenching  vainly  at  the  gun. 
Then  he  threw  up  his  arms. 

"  Virginia !  "  he  rnuttered  thickly,  a  strange  weak 
ness  possessing  him. 

As  he  collapsed  arms  caught  him.  Some  one 
recognised  him.  A  voice  he  heard  faintly  as  he  lost 
consciousness  cried: 

"  Great  God,  it's  Graftonl  " 

That  was  all. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  PROPHET'S  WORD 

OUT  of  the  jaws  of  death,  out  of  the  mouth  of  hell, 
came  reeling  back  those  Virginians.  All  that  was 
left  of  them,  that  is,  for  many  were  killed,  more 
were  helpless  from  ghastly  wounds,  and  some  had 
been  captured.  In  rear  now,  as  he  had  been  in 
advance  before,  rode  Pickett  on  his  great  black  horse. 
By  a  miracle  both  had  passed  through  the  conflict 
unhurt.  The  general's  handsome  face  was  haggard 
and  filled  with  despair.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his 
brow  was  furrowed,  his  hands  were  trembling.  He 
had  succeeded;  yes,  he  had  pierced,  he  had  broken 
the  Union  lines.  But  his  supports,  where  were  they? 
The  awful  slaughter  upon  the  slopes  had  not  left  him 
enough  men  to  hold  or  use  the  advantage  he  had 
gained.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to  go  back  down 
the  hill.  Stormed  at  by  such  a  fire  as  cannot  be 
imagined,  all  that  was  left  of  those  dauntless  regi 
ments  retreated  in  disorganised  bodies  over  the  slip 
pery  red  ground  up  which  they  had  so  triumphantly 
advanced.  Where,  where,  were  the  supporting 
lines?  asked  the  general  and  his  men  with  rage  and 
bitterness?  Why  had  not  the  whole  corps  advanced 
in  the  way  of  that  forlorn  hope?  Why  had  not  the 
whole  army  followed  those  three  divisions? 

Where  were  the  Carolinians,  the  Tennesseeans,  the 
Alabamians,  who  had  followed  Pettigrew  on  the  left; 
those  other  men  of  the  South  whose  cause  Virginia 
had  espoused,  to  help  whom  she  had  so  reluctantly 
left  the  Union?  For  whose  safety  she  had  poured 

92 


THE    PROPHET'S   WORD  93 

out  her  life  blood  upon  her  own  fields,  to  save  whom 
she  had  offered  herself  as  a  champion  and  had  con 
sented  to  make  of  her  own  smiling  land  a  battle- 
scarred  waste?  Where  were  those  men  when  the 
Virginians  charged  up  Cemetery  Ridge? 

Alas,  none  could  reproach  nor  blame  them!  In 
long  rows  they  lay  silent  as  in  line.  Here  and  there 
a  writhing  figure  showed  that  life  was  not  quite  gone. 
No, no;  the  task  had  been  too  great  for  any  of  woman 
born.  That  the  Virginians  had  all  but  succeeded, 
could  not  be  explained  on  any  hypothesis  begot  of 
experience  anywhere.  Such  valour,  such  heroism, 
such  soul  as  they  had  shown  marked  them  as  gods 
rather  than  men. 

They  were  conscious  not  at  all  of  that  as  they 
reeled  down  the  hill.  They  only  knew  they  had 
failed.  It  was  no  comfort  to  them  that  they  had  at 
tempted  the  impossible.  For  the  first  time  in  their 
history  these  men  had  gone  forth  to  conquer  and 
had  come  back  defeated.  They  envied  those  who 
remained  on  the  hill,  the  dead  men,  the  wounded 
men,  who  could  not  be  driven  outside  the  Union 
lines.  Staggering  back,  sullenly  stopping  in  little 
groups  to  fire  at  the  crest  where  Armistead  lay  with 
his  soldiers,  they  experienced,  like  that  Spartan  sur 
vivor  of  Thermopylae,  a  feeling  of  shame  that  they 
were  living  to  tell  the  story  of  their  overthrow. 

Yet  their  general  himself,  marvellously  unscathed 
amid  that  carnage,  was  leading  them  back.  Fain 
would  he,  too,  have  laid  beside  Garnett  and  Armi 
stead  on  that  high  watermark  of  Confederate  valour, 
on  the  crest  of  that  heaven-kissed  hill  which  the  pas 
sions  of  men  had  turned  into  an  inferno.  There  are 
times  when  to  live  and  go  back  are  the  hardest  duties 
of  a  soldier.  It  takes  more  heroism  sometimes  to 
retreat  than  to  advance.  It  was  so  when  Pickett  led 


94  THE   PATRIOTS 

back  the  poor  remains  of  his  shattered  battalions. 
In  the  charge  organisation  had  been  necessarily  lost. 
Regiments  had  been  swept  away.  Companies  had 
been  decimated,  brigades  had  been  shattered,  officers 
had  been  killed.  The  few  of  subordinate  rank  who 
survived  ran  to  and  fro  among  the  group  of  men, 
toiling  terribly,  labouring  like  Titans  to  bring  some 
sort  of  order  out  of  chaos.  The  assault  had  ended  in 
a  dreadful  confusion  of  intermingled  men  and  guns, 
but  the  retreat  was  not  a  rout.  Even  in  that  hail 
of  fire  the  men  remembered  that  they  were  soldiers 
and  seconded  the  pleas  and  orders  of  their  officers  as 
best  they  could.  It  was  after  all  something  like  a 
battle  line  which  toiled  up  Seminary  Ridge  to  the 
place  they  had  left  an  hour — one  short  hour — be 
fore:  a  torn,  irregular,  blood-stained,  broken  rank, 
but  thank  God,  it  was  a  fighting  force  still. 

Most  of  the  men  were  weeping,  the  tension  being 
off.  Well,  they  had  shown  themselves  men,  they  had 
a  right  to  cry  like  women.  There  were  movements 
in  hot  haste  along  the  Confederate  lines.  Batteries 
were  advanced.  Other  troops  were  brought  forward 
and  stretched  out  in  long,  thin  ranks  to  fill  the  places 
of  the  dead  and  missing,  in  anticipation  of  the  return 
shock,  the  return  charge.  Men  looked  with  bated 
breath  at  the  blue  lines  upon  the  hill  waiting  each 
instant  to  see  masses  treading  over  the  bodies  of  the 
slain  lying  so  thick  in  the  valley  and  advancing 
toward  the  shattered  line  in  grey.  How  would  they, 
how  could  they,  meet  it? 

Galloping  up  on  his  great  grey  horse  into  that 
confusion  burst  a  soldier  alone.  He  neither  checked 
steed  nor  drew  rein  until  he  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  heaving,  panting,  sobbing,  chaotic  mass  of  re 
treating  men. 

"  It's  my  fault !  "  he  cried  in  his  deep,  splendid 


THE    PROPHET'S   WORD  9$ 

voice;  "  it's  all  my  fault.  I  take  the  blame.  You 
have  done  nobly.  I  want  all  true  men  now.  Face 
the  other  way.  Those  people  will  soon  be  upon  us. 
We  must  show  them  that  we  can  defend  as  well  as 
attack.  Face  the  other  way.  There  must  be  no 
further  retreat.  It's  all  my  fault !  " 

They  were  breathing  hard,  those  exhausted  men. 
They  had  little  strength  for  words,  but  as  Robert 
Lee,  with  a  face  like  iron,  such  a  figure  of  repression 
as  men  had  not  often  seen,  but  with  his  soul  upon 
his  lips,  magnanimously  assuming  the  burden  of  de 
feat,  rode  back  through  his  faithful  Virginians,  they 
turned  and  cheered  him  like  mad.  Now  the  black 
horse  meets  the  grey.  There  is  a  fierce  outcry,  a 
passionate  protest  from  the  commander  who  has  seen 
the  flower  of  his  division  go  down  to  utter  destruc 
tion.  Why  was  he  not  supported?  Where  were  the 
other  men?  Why  was  such  a  brilliant  opportunity  of 
success  allowed  to  fail  of  fruition?  Who  was  at 
fault? 

"  I,  I  alone  am  to  blame,"  said  the  deep  voice  of 
the  great  captain,  calming  his  excited  subordinate. 
"  You  have  done  magnificently.  Virginia  is  proud 
of  you.  No  more  now.  The  time  for  discussion  is 
not  yet.  Let  all  brave  men  rally.  We  must  be  ready 
to  fight.  We  must  make  secure  our  own  lines." 

So  riding  to  and  fro  the  heroic  figure  of  the  great 
captain  brings  order  out  of  chaos  and  nerves  his 
broken,  sobbing  men  again  to  confront  the  foeman 
and  hurl  him  back  should  he  assail  the  line.  The 
Army  of  the  Potomac  came  not.  Meade  gave  no 
order.  Its  opportunity  and  his  were  gone.  Fate 
knocks  but  once  on  any  man's  door.  Meade's  chance 
did  not  present  itself  again.  He  lost  his  golden 
moment  when  he  held  his  eager  war  hounds  in  leash. 
The  Confederates  waited  throughout  the  long  after- 


9$  THE   PATRIOTS 

noon,  but  there  was  no  movement  from  the  other 
hill.  The  last  ditch  is  a  great  place  in  which  to  die. 
The  men  in  grey  were  not  dead,  but  they  were  against 
the  wall.  The  leader  of  the  men  in  blue  had  had 
enough.  He  did  not  wish  to  rouse  the  maddened 
lion  from  his  final  lair.  Perhaps  after  all  he  de 
cided  wisely  when  he  concluded  that  it  was  his 
strength  to  sit  still. 

And  the  sun  sank  to  rest  amid  rising  banks  of  low 
ering  clouds  that  presently  blotted  out  the  stars.  As 
night  fell  the  floods  came  and  the  rains  descended 
and  beat  upon  that  earth  as  if  they  would  fain  wash 
from  it  surface  the  red  stains  of  quarrel.  But  not 
all  the  waters  of  the  mighty  deeps  could  erase  from 
the  records  of  men  the  story  of  that  great  charge 
made  by  those  immortal  Virginians. 

A  week  later  and  a  woman  sat  at  the  door  of  a 
room  in  the  White  House.  Telegraph  instruments 
clicked  unceasingly  in  the  large  apartment  in  which 
she  sat.  Officers  dashed  in  and  out  with  despatches 
and  orders.  Grave  and  venerable  Senators  and  states 
men  came  and  went,  with  a  sprinkling  of  the  com 
mon  people  among  them,  while  the  woman  sat  there 
unheeded.  She  had  been  there  since  early  morning. 
While  the  long  hours  had  dragged  away  she  had 
waited  and  waited.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  be 
fore  she  received  the  opportunity  to  meet  which  she 
had  come  so  far  and  to  create  which  she  had  laboured 
and  sorrowed.  A  negro  messenger  beckoned  to  her 
at  last.  He  opened  the  door  before  her  and  she  en 
tered  another  room. 

A  tall  man  was  writing  at  a  desk  near  the  window. 
He  looked  up  as  she  came  in,  and  then  he  rose  slowly 
to  his  feet  and  stood  in  all  his  great  height,  in  all 
his  gaunt  ugliness  before  her.  It  was  to  see  this  man 
that  she  had  gone  on  her  knees  to  the  Confederate 


THE    PROPHET'S   WORD  97 

authorities  in  Richmond;  it  was  to  see  this  man  that 
she  had  begged  and  implored  the  Union  troops 
guarding  Washington  to  let  her  pass.  Through  an 
old  friend  of  her  grandfather's  who  was  now  repre* 
senting  Pennsylvania  in  the  Federal  Congress  she  had 
received  permission  from  the  President  to  call  on  him. 

Now  that  she  stood  in  his  presence  she  was  silent. 
She  had  never  met  a  man  quite  like  Abraham  Lin 
coln.  There  was  in  his  face  and  bearing  none  of  the 
grace  and  refinement  and  distinction  that  might  have 
been  expected  from  the  position  he  occupied.  At 
first  glance  he  seemed  like  a  plain,  homely,  uncouth 
old  man.  Her  thoughts  were  intensely  personal,  her 
own  grief,  her  own  anxiety,  had  brought  her  here. 
Yet  she  was  not  too  engrossed  to  realise  that  this 
strange,  somewhat  forbidding,  personality  held  the 
destinies  of  the  land  in  his  hand.  Certainly  of  his 
own  section  of  the  country,  and  perhaps  of  hers,  as 
well. 

She  had  been  ready  of  tongue,  eloquent  of  speech 
before,  but  now  she  was  almost  paralysed.  What  if 
he  should  say  her  nay?  She  had  had  such  hard  work 
to  get  where  she  could  proffer  her  final  plea  that  her 
heart  stood  still  in  sudden  terror  at  that  fear.  Be 
hind  that  figure  there  was  no  appeal,  back  of  Abra 
ham  Lincoln 'stood  only  God.  Well,  to  Him  at  least 
again  and  again  she  had  made  fervent  petition.  He 
would  help  her  now  with  this  earthly  potentate 
surely.  Her  lips  formed  another,  a  last  request. 

The  President  stepped  nearer  to  her.  Ariadne  was 
taller  than  she  had  been;  indeed  among  women  she 
was  no  longer  small,  and  she  was  beautiful.  The 
roughest  man,  the  rudest  heart,  the  most  engrossed 
being  is  not  insensible  to  that  supreme  power  with 
which  woman  in  her  weakness  is  so  fitly  panoplied. 
There  is  beauty  and  beauty.  Ariadne's  was  the 


98  THE   PATRIOTS 

beauty  of  sweetness  and  light,  the  beauty  that  pleases, 
that  enchants  and  enthralls,  not  so  much  by  the  sud 
den  shock  of  its  splendour  as  by  its  subtle,  tender 
femininity  that  appeals  to  the  strong.  Hers  was  the 
beauty  that  fascinates  but  does  not  dazzle. 

An  exquisite  figure  of  grace  and  charm,  she  lifted 
her  brown  eyes  toward  the  man  who  approached  her 
slowly.  An  observer  might  have  thought  of  the 
nursery  fable  of  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  save  that  there 
was  nothing  of  the  Beast  about  the  President  except 
his  plain  ugliness. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  in  his  deep  resonant  voice, 
and  with  the  first  word  his  face  took  upon  itself 
another  aspect  to  her  appealing  vision — how  had  she 
thought  him  so  plain  of  feature? — "what  do  you 
wish?" 

"I    .    .    I    .    .    lam    .    .    ." 

The  President  lifted  a  note. 

"  Mrs.  Philip  Grafton,"  he  said,  kindly  helping 
her  out.  "  Congressman  Grossman  says  he  knew  your 
grandfather,  Senator  Lewis,  in  the  old  days  before  all 
this  unhappiness  came  upon  us." 

'  Yes,  sir    .    .    and    .    .    and    ..    he    ..." 

;<  I,  too,  remember  to  have  met  him,"  continued 
the  President,  perceiving  her  agitation  and  hoping 
to  calm  her,  also  to  reassure  her,  by  his  words;  "  I 
was  in  Congress  with  him,  and  I  remember  with  what 
interest  and  reverence  I  looked  up  to  the  man  whose 
name  had  been  great  in  my  ears  since  I  first  began 
to  take  notice." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Grandfather  was  a  great  man, 
and  with  his  dying  breath  he  called  down  blessings 
on  the  United  States." 

"  More  than  ever  in  her  history  does  she  need  the 
prayers  of  the  righteous  now,"  said  the  President 
softly. 


THE    PROPHET'S   WORD  99 

"  But  my  grandfather  was  a  true  son  of  Virginia, 
sir,"  cried  Ariadne  quickly,  fearful  lest  she  should 
have  given  a  false  impression  and  thus  disgraced  her 
race. 

"  He  might  be  that  and  a  righteous  man  still," 
said  the  President,  "  might  he  not?  "  There  was  a 
little  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  He  could  not  be  other  than  righteous  if  he  was 
true  to  the  South,  sir,"  returned  the  girl  jealously. 

"  That  is  a  question  about  which  there  is  a  differ 
ence  of  opinion,"  remarked  the  great  man  quaintly, 
"  and  I  opine  that  it  will  not  be  settled  for  some  time 
to  come  yet.  But  you  didn't  seek  me  to  talk  pol 
itics  or  principles,  I  am  sure.  You  come  from 
Richmond?" 
1  Yes,  sir. 

u  For  what  purpose?  " 

"  I  wish  you  to  let  me  seek  my  husband." 
4  Your  husband?    Is  he  a  prisoner?  " 

"I  .  .  I  do  not  know,"  faltered  poor  Ariadne, 
her  lips  trembling. 

She  would  not  cry,  she  would  not  break  down  be 
fore  this  man,  the  enemy  of  her  country,  she  said, 
but  nevertheless  two  great  tears  swam  in  her  eyes 
and  slowly  trickled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Explain  yourself,  pray,"  said  Lincoln. 

"He  was  a  .  .  sergeant  in  the  Ninth  Virginia 
Infantry,  sir,  in  General  Armistead's  brigade  of 
General  Pickett's  division." 

"  Ah ! "  replied  the  President,  comprehending 
all. 

"  And  he  charged  up  that  hill  with  the  rest  and 
.  .  and  .  .  never  came  back." 

Lincoln  shook  his  head  softly. 
'  There  were  many  who  did  not  come  back." 

"He  wasn't  killed?    You  haven't  heard  ." 


ioo  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him,  my  dear  child," 
answered  the  President,  laying  his  hand  gently  on 
her  shoulder. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  clasping  her  breast,  "I 
thought  .  .  . 

"And  some  of  those,"  continued  the  President, 
"  who  did  not  come  back  are  in  our  hands  to-day. 
It  may  be  ... 

"  It  must  be  that  he  is  alive,  sir.  He  was  to  come 
to  claim  me  after  the  war  .  .  when  we  had  won 
.  .  I  was  only  a  child  when  we  were  married  -.  . 
oh,  my  God,  my  God,  I  cannot  give  him  up !  " 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  lady,"  said  the  President 
kindly,  as  if  he  had  been  her  father,  "and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"  When  my  grandfather  died,"  began  Ariadne, 
something  in  this  strange  man  compelling  her 
obedience,  "  Philip  .  .  Mr.  Grafton  .  .  Ser 
geant  Grafton,  you  know  .  .  he  married  me.  I 
was  only  sixteen  then,  and  Vallewis,  our  place,  was 
gone  and  I  had  nothing.  And  Philip  married  me  and 
left  me  in  Richmond  to  wait  for  him  until  the  war 
was  over." 

"  How  old  are  you  now?  " 

"  Eighteen,  sir.  And  I  have  tried  so  hard  to  be 
worthy  of  him!  I  have  worked  for  our  soldiers,  I 
have  studied,  I  have  written  him  every  day,  and  after 
every  battle  he  has  always  sent  me  word.  The  news 
came,  I  heard  from  Gettysburg.  One  of  the  men  of 
his  regiment  was  sent  to  Richmond.  He  told  me 
that  he  saw  Philip  last  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  He  did 
not  .  .  he  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  .  . 
alive  .  .  or  not,  and  I  have  come  to  you  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?  " 

"  To  find  him." 

"  And  if  he  is  wounded?  " 


THE    PROPHET'S   WORD  101 

"  To  let  me  go  to  him.  If  he  is  a  prisoner,  to 
let  me  share  his  prison." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  President,  "  I  will  find  him. 
If  he  is  a  prisoner,  you  cannot  see  him,  of  course. 
If  he  is  wounded,  you  may  go  to  him,  if  possible." 
14  When  may  I  have  the  news,  sir?  " 
"  To-morrow.    Where  are  you  to  be  found?  " 

"  At  Judge  Grossman's." 

"  So  he  is  giving  aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy, 
is  he?  "  said  the  President,  smiling. 

Ariadne  knew  not  what  to  say. 

"  Well,  I  can  forgive  him  since  I  am  doing  prac 
tically  the  same  thing  myself.  I  hope  to  tell  you 
to-morrow  that  your  husband  is  well.  And  now  I  bid 
you  good-bye." 

"  Sir,"  said  Ariadne,  rising  and  taking  the  Presi 
dent's  great  hand  in  both  her  own,  "I  .  .  we  have 
hated  you  in  the  South.  But  one  woman  will  ever 
remember  and  pray  God  to  have  you  in  His  keeping." 

Before  he  could  prevent  she  had  bent  and  kissed 
his  hand. 

"  As  for  me,"  said  the  President  quietly,  "  I  love 
the  South  as  I  love  the  North  and  the  East  and  the 
West.  I  would  fain  have  it  back  in  the  old  Union, 
under  the  old  flag." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  forgetful 
for  the  moment  of  the  woman  who  stood  before  him. 
Ariadne  knew  her  Bible  thoroughly.  As  she  stared 
up  into  that  plain  face,  transfigured,  glorified,  the 
words  of  an  ancient  and  unfulfilled  appeal  that  was 
as  much  prophecy  as  prayer  ran  through  her  mind : 

"  O  Jerusalem,  thou  that  killest  the  prophets  and 
stonest  them  which  are  sent  unto  thee,  how  often 
would  I  have  gathered  thy  children  together  even  as 
a  hen  gathereth  her  chickens  under  her  wings,  and 
ye  would  not !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  AFTERMATH   OF  PAIN 

THE  condition  of  the  wounded  at  Gettysburg  was 
terrible.  The  suffering  after  the  battle  is  always 
tremendously  greater  than  the  suffering  during  the 
course.  The  spiritual  exaltation,  the  mental  ex 
hilaration  of  combat  are  similar  in  effect  to  surgical 
shock  after  an  operation,  or  that  paralysis  of  the 
nervous  system  which  follows  immediately  upon  a 
severe  wound.  All  these  produce  an  insensibility  to 
pain :  but  as  shock,  or  exaltation  or  nervous  paralysis 
is  dissipated,  pitiful  weakness,  anguish,  sharp  and 
keen,  overwhelming  mental  depression,  complete  and 
prostrating  reactions,  manifest  themselves. 

When  an  army  is  far  from  its  base  of  supplies 
and  has  to  make  long  rrfarches,  especially  in  retreat, 
before  it  gets  its  men  to  places  where  they  can  receive 
proper  treatment,  the  horrors  of  war  are  sickening, 
indescribable.  That  economy  of  men  which  the 
paucity  of  resources  in  the  Southern  Confederacy 
made  necessary,  compelled  the  retreating  army  of 
Northern  Virginia  to  take  with  it  in  its  ambulances, 
baggage  wagons  and  such  vehicles  as  could  be  se 
cured  in  the  neighbourhood,  every  man  who  could 
possibly  stand  the  journey. 

Some  of  them  had  received  no  treatment  at  all; 
others  had  been  attended  to  in  the  most  perfunctory 
manner.  This  was  not  due  to  heartlessness  or  neg 
lect,  but  to  the  fact  that  all  the  surgeons,  working 
night  and  day  without  rest  or  sleep,  were  unequal  to 
the  constant  demands  imposed  upon  them.  No  army 

103 


THE    AFTERMATH   OF   PAIN       103 

could  by  any  possibility  carry  enough  surgeons  to 
treat  all  its  wounded  effectively  at  once. 

Of  course,  there  were  numbers  of  Confederate 
foldiers  who  could  not  be  moved,  who  had  to  be  left 
on  the  field  to  the  care  of  their  Northern  foemen, 
and  these  were,  comparatively  speaking,  fortunate. 
Thus  the  work  imposed  upon  the  Northern  medical 
department  was  vastly  greater  than  that  upon  the 
Southern.  To  have  had  merely  their  own  wounded 
to  deal  with  would  have  been  bad  enough,  but  when 
to  them  were  added  those  of  the  Confederates — 
every  one  of  them  in  desperate  case,  since  all  who 
could  be  moved  had  been  taken  away — the  task  was 
appalling. 

Fortunate  it  was  for  Philip  that  he  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  friends.  The  voice  that  he  had  heard 
as  he  fell  was  that  of  Major  Burt  Kirkwood,  who 
had  commanded  a  battalion  of  troops  which  had 
delivered  the  coup  de  grace  that  repulsed  Pickett's 
grand  assault.  While  the  lines  were  being  re-formed, 
by  Kirkwood's  directions  Graf  ton  was  taken  to  the 
road  and  laid  beneath  a  shady  tree  in  a  place  where 
he  was  sheltered  at  least  in  part  from  the  Confederate 
shells,  which  had  already  begun  to  rain  upon  that 
shot-torn  hill.  So  soon  as  other  duties  permitted 
them,  Kirkwood,  bringing  Manning,  who  com 
manded  one  of  Webb's  regiments,  came  back  to 
where  their  old  classmate  lay.  With  them  was  a 
regimental  surgeon. 

A  hasty  examination  of  the  unconscious  figure  re 
vealed  the  fact  that  Grafton  was  shot  through  the 
left  arm,  through  the  right  groin  and  through  the 
right  shoulder,  and  had  received  a  terrible  smash 
over  the  head.  He  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood  and 
lay  like  one  dead.  He  had  not  spoken  or  given  a 
sign  of  consciousness  since  he  had  been  struck  down. 


104  THE   PATRIOTS 

The  surgeon  looked  him  over  skilfully,  if  quicklyv 
and  pronounced  his  case  practically  hopeless. 

"  He's  got  about  one  chance  in  a  thousand,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  but  a  slim  one.  If  he  is  left  out  here 
he  will  die  to-night — it's  certain  to  rain.  I  doubt  if 
we  could  save  him  in  a  hospital.  He  wants  quiet 
somewhere,  and  nursing." 

After  probing  the  wounds  and  leaving  instructions 
as  to  bandaging  and  dressings,  which  the  two  sol 
diers  followed  out  with  clumsy  fingers,  but  with 
hearts  as  tender  as  women,  the  harassed  and  over 
worked  physician  hurried  away  in  response  to  many 
appeals  upon  him. 

"  By  heavens !  "  said  Manning,  "  it's  too  bad.  We 
can't  leave  old  Phil  here  to  die  in  this  way." 

"  We  must  send  him  to  Kathleen,"  said  Kirkwood; 
"  she  was  always  fond  of  him,  you  know.  If  we 
could  get  him  to  York  perhaps  she  could  pull  him 
through." 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  that  graduation  up  at 
Harvard,"  said  Manning,  "  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  it 
were  only  two  years  ago,  does  it?  " 

"No;  here,  help  me  with  this  bandage.  You 
know  that  he  and  Kathleen  had  some  words  that 
day  about  his  going  South." 

'  Yes,  I  knew  it,"  answered  Manning;  "  she  told 
me  all  about  it.  You  know  once  I  used  to  think 
she  was  too  fond  of  Grafton  here,  but  they  had  a 
real  quarrel  before  he  left." 

*  That  will  make  no  difference  with  Kathleen, 
now,"  returned  her  brother  quickly. 

"  Of  course  not,"  assented  Manning  heartily; 
"  she  will  do  everything  for  him  that  she  would  do 
for  either  of  us.  The  question  is,  how  to  get  him 
to  her." 

"  I'm  going  over  to  see  General  Gibbon  pres- 


THE    AFTERMATH   OF    PAIN       105 

ently,"  said  Kirkwood.  '  They've  got  to  get  these 
wounded  out  of  here  in  some  way,  and  some  of  them 
will  go  to  York.  There  is  a  big  hospital  there 
and  ...  " 

"  Hurry  up,  then !  "  said  Manning.  "  I'll  wait 
here  with  Phil." 

As  Kirkwood  rode  away  Manning  knelt  down  by 
the  side  of  his  old  friend  and  classmate. 

"  Phil,"  he  murmured,  "  I  was  frightfully  jealous 
of  you  once.  I  hated  you  so  that  I  would  have  been 
almost  willing  to  kill  you  myself.  But  now,  by 
Heaven,  I'd  almost  give  my  life  to  hear  your  voice 
again,"  so  his  thoughts  ran.  "  What  fools  we  are 
any  way!  There  ought  to  be  some  better  way  to 
settle  such  differences  as  lie  between  the  North  and  the 
South  than  by  fighting  about  them.  Yet,  when  I'm 
actually  in  the  fight  I  don't  think  of  anything  but 
hitting  the  other  fellow." 

He  observed  that  an  involuntary  movement  of  the 
wounded  man's  arm  had  slightly  disarranged  a  band 
age.  He  had  applied  the  bandages  on  the  arm  and 
leg  while  Kirkwood  had  attended  to  the  shoulder 
and  head.  He  bent  over  him  to  adjust  the  dressing. 
A  little  gold  chain  hung  around  the  neck  of  the 
wounded  man.  From  it  a  locket  depended.  In  some 
way  it  had  opened.  As  Manning  bent  over  Graf- 
ton  to  close  it  the  pictured  face  within  caught  his 
eye  in  a  flash.  He  recognised  the  portrait  of  a 
woman. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  his  heart  full  of  bitter 
wrath  and  sudden  jealousy,  "  what  is  that  Rebel  sol 
dier  doing  with  that  picture?  " 

All  the  anger  and  uncertainty  which  had  once 
threatened  to  impair  their  friendship  flamed  up 
again.  He  had  not  meant  to  look,  merely  to  close 
the  locket.  It  had  happened  by  chance,  but  having 


106  THE   PATRIOTS 

happened  he  could  not  put  the  recognition  out  of  his 
mind.  Resisting  a  temptation  to  tear  it  from  the 
other  man's  neck,  he  reached  his  hand  down  and 
closed  the  locket,  and  then  turned  to  find  Kirkwood 
by  his  side  once  more. 

"  I  met  Generals  Webb  and  Gibbon  over  at  General 
Meade's  headquarters,"  said  Kirkwood  briefly,  "  and 
found  out  that  Dr.  Letterman — the  surgeon-in-chief 
of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac — is  going  to  start  a 
trainload  of  wounded  for  York  to-night.  He  says 
we  can  get  Grafton  on  it  if  we  hurry." 

"  Do  you  know,  Kirkwood,"  began  Manning  un 
certainly,  "  I  don't  .  .  believe  .  .  that  Kathleen 
is  the  person  to  ... 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  think  we'd  better    .    .    . 

"  George  Manning,"  said  Kirkwood  sternly,  "  are 
you  letting  that  old  foolish  feeling  get  the  mastery 
of  you?" 

"  Burt,  he's  got  her  picture  in  a  locket  around  his 
neck." 

"  Did  you  open  it?  " 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?  "  blurted  out  Man 
ning  fiercely;  "  do  you  think  I  would  examine  a  gen 
tleman's  private  belongings  and  Grafton  helpless! 
It  was  lying  open  on  his  breast.  I  started  to  close 
it.  I  couldn't  help  seeing  it." 

"  Manning,  forgive  me,"  said  Kirkwood;  "  I 
ought  to  have  known,  of  course.  Now  you  must  be 
magnanimous.  He's  as  good  as  dead  already.  We 
simply  have  to  save  him,  if  we  can.  We  must  give 
him  every  chance,  and  you  must  trust  Kathleen." 

'  What  is  he  carrying  her  picture  around  his  neck 
for,  I'd  like  to  know!  " 

"  I  suppose  .  .  well,  yes,  I  might  as  well  admit 
it.  He  did  love  her  once  and  probably  he  has  never 


THE    AFTERMATH   OF    PAIN       107 

taken  the  thing  off.  Besides,  she  is  not  responsible 
for  his  action." 

"  But  Kathleen  swore  to  me  that  there  was  noth 
ing  between  them !  " 

"  No  more  there  was,"  said  Kirkwood  gravely. 
"  If  you  need  my  assurance  to  add  to  hers,  I  declare 
that  she  told  you  the  truth.  Come,  George,  you  can't 
afford  to  be  jealous  of  a  dying  man." 

"  No,"  said  Manning,  "  but  it  is  hard  to  stand 
quietly  and  .  .  . 

"  I  know  it  is,  but  .  .  well  .  .  we  are 
soldiers,  and  perhaps  we'll  have  to  stand  stranger 
things  than  that.  At  any  rate,  unless  he  is  to  die 
right  here  we  must  get  him  on  that  train.  I  won't 
do  it  without  your  consent." 

"And  do  you  think  I  would  refuse?  "  said  Man 
ning  quickly.  "  I  wouldn't  put  such  a  slight  on 
Kathleen."  He  shut  his  lips  firmly. 

;t  Very  well,  then;  send  him  up." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go,  too,"  said  Manning,  almost 
envious  of  Grafton. 

"  Can't  you  get  leave  for  a  few  days,  George?  " 

"  It's  not  to  be  thought  of,  Burt.  I  wouldn't  ask 
for  it.  I  wouldn't  take  it.  I  wouldn't  leave  my  men 
now.  Besidesr  we  may  be  ordered  to  attack  the  Rebs 
any  minute." 

"  No;  from  what  I  heard  at  headquarters,  I  think 
not.  I  guess  they  think  this  army  has  done  enough. 
By  George,  it  has!  I  never  saw  anything  come  on 
like  those  fellows." 

"Wasn't  it  glorious?  I  just  felt  like  cheering 
them  as  I  saw  them  breast  that  hill  in  the  thick  of  our 
fire." 

"  It  seemed  cruel  for  us  to  shoot  down  that  little 
huddle  in  the  smoke  that  got  over  the  wall  after 
Webb's  brigade  gave  back,"  said  Kirkwood. 


io8  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Manning,  "  but  if  we  hadn't  shot 
down  that  little  huddle,  God  help  us !  There's  only 
one  way  to  stop  those  fellows,  and  that's  to  kill 
them." 

"  Isn't  it  strange,"  mused  Kirkwood,  "  that  one 
minute  after  we  have  been  doing  our  level  best  to 
kill  them  we  are  straining  every  nerve  to  save  their 
lives,  as  Phil's  here?  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  strain  of  it  in  this  case  is  in 
deed  terrible,"  commented  Manning,  with  a  gloomy 
look. 

"  I  know,  I  know,  George,"  said  Kirkwood,  with 
kindly  sympathy;  "  but  Kathleen  will  honour  you  for 
this  when  she  hears." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  other. 

"  Here  come  some  stretcher-bearers  from  my  regi 
ment,"  continued  Kirkwood.  "  By  the  way,  I  think 
you  had  better  write  a  note  to  Kathleen  to  let  her 
know  we're  all  right  and  to  beg  her  to  do  the  best 
she  can  for  Grafton.  I  shall  drop  her  a  line,  too." 

"  She  will  not  need  urging  to  do  that,"  said 
Manning  bitterly,  taking  out  his  notebook  and  pencil 
and  beginning  to  write. 

"  We're  ordered  to  report  to  you,  sir,"  said  the 
corporal  who  with  a  detail  of  eight  men  for  carry 
ing  the  stretcher  stopped  at  the  side  of  the  little 
group. 

'  Very  good,  Corporal,"  said  his  major,  "  you  are 
to  take  this  Reb — this  soldier  here — to  an  ambulance 
which  you  will  find  at  General  Meade's  headquar 
ters.  Here's  an  order  from  Dr.  Letterman  for  the 
ambulance  and  a  further  order  that  this  soldier,  Ser 
geant  Philip  Grafton,  one  of  those  Virginians  who 
charged  up  that  hill,  is  to  go  on  the  first  train  to  York 
this  evening.  After  you  have  put  him  in  the  ambu 
lance  the  men  will  rejoin  the  regiment.  You  will 


THE   AFTERMATH   OF   PAIN      109 

go  on  to  York  with  him — here  are  your  orders — and 
you  are  not  to  turn  this  soldier  over  to  the  hospital, 
but  will  take  him  to  this  address  and  urge  that  he 
be  taken  in  there.  Having  delivered  him  there 
you  will  also  deliver  two  notes  which  I  will  hand 
you  in  a  few  minutes.  You  will  then  get  whatever 
answer  is  given  you  and  rejoin  us  immediately.  I 
think  it  is  hardly  likely  that  we  shall  move  for  a 
day  or  two,  but  wherever  we  are  you  will  find  us. 
Here,"  continued  Kirkwood,  handing  out  two  or 
three  gold  pieces,  "  is  what  you  will  require  for  your 
journey." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  orderly,  a  young  man  from 
Kirkwood's  own  town,  who  was  thoroughly  to  be 
depended  upon. 

Meanwhile  the  stretcher-bearers  were  busy  putting 
the  senseless  form  upon  the  litter. 

"  Begob !  "  said  one  of  them,  a  big  Irishman,  "  it's 
a  dale  of  throuble  the  Meejor  do  be  takin'  fer  a  man 
phwats  only  a  sargint." 

Kirkwood  looked  up  from  the  note  he  was  writing 
and  spoke  sharply. 

"  Hennessey,  it's  because  men  like  that  one  are 
only  sergeants  in  the  Rebel  army  that  the  rank  and 
file  fight  the  way  they  do.  It  was  men  like  that  one 
that  charged  up  that  hill  to-day  in  the  face  of  our 
guns." 

'  Yis,  sor,  av  the  Meejor  plazes,  sor." 

"  He  was  once  a  classmate  of  mine  at  Harvard, 
and  I  suppose  before  this  war  he  was  worth  one  or 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  Begob !  "  said  Hennessey  the  abashed,  for  the 
sum  named  was  wealth  in  those  days,  "  if  thot's  wot 
they  make  sargints  out  of  in  the  Ribil  Ar-r-my,  wot 
must  the  offycers  be?  " 

"  Ready,  now,  sir,"  said    the    corporal    as    the 


no  THE    PATRIOTS 

bearers  lifted  the  stretcher  from  the  ground.  Kirk- 
wood  and  Manning  had  each  torn  a  leaf  from  his 
memorandum  book  and  scribbled  a  few  hasty  words 
thereon.  The  notes  were  folded  and  handed  to  the 
corporal,  who  saluted  and  marched  away.  Men 
learned  to  be  sharp  and  brief  in  times  like  that. 
Nothing  was  wasted,  no,  not  even  human  life,  cheap 
est  of  things  in  wars.  Lives  were  expended  but  for 
a  purpose.  The  best  general  was  he  who  spent  them 
for  the  best  results  and  with  the  most  economy. 

It  was  well  for  Grafton  that  he  remained  insensi 
ble  during  that  awful  journey.  Others  were  not  so 
fortunate  as  he.  He  was  laid  in  an  ambulance  which 
was  not  reserved  for  him  alone.  There  were  too 
many  wounded  to  be  carried,  and  too  few  vehicles  in 
which  to  carry  them,  for  any  one  man,  unless  he  were 
a  general  officer,  to  take  that  journey  alone.  The 
mules  attached  were  like  all  army  mules,  not  gentle, 
but  irritable  and  fractious.  The  way  was  broken,  the 
roads  terribly  rough.  Part  of  the  time  they  had  to 
drive  across  the  country  to  reach  the  station  at  Gettys 
burg. 

The  driver  was  careful  enough;  he  did  the  best 
he  could,  but  he  had  hauled  similar  cargoes  so 
often  that  he  was  more  or  less  callous  about  it,  or 
at  least  indifferent  to  the  shrieks,  the  yells,  the  curses 
and  groans  and  cries  that  came  from  the  men  behind 
him. 

"Oh,  God,  why  can't  I  die!" 

"Jesus,  Jesus,  will  no  one  kill  me?" 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother!  " 

"  Have  mercy  on  me  and  for  Christ's  sake  put 
me  out  of  my  misery!  " 

"  Water,  water,  for  the  love  of  heaven !  " 

"  Stop,  stop,  just  a  minute !  Put  me  out  and  let 
me  die  on  the  roadside !  " 


THE    AFTERMATH   OF   PAIN       in 

"  Give  me  a  drink!  " 

"  I  am  dying,  driver.  I  can't  stand  this  any  more. 
There's  a  load  in  my  pistol.  Won't  you  end  it  for 
me?  " 

"  I  am  dying !  My  poor  wife,  my  little  children ! 
What  will  become  of  them?  " 

It  was  well  for  the  drivers  that  they  were  hardened 
to  such  appeals  as  these,  for  they  would  have  broken 
the  hearts  of  men  whose  sensibilities  had  not  been 
dulled  by  the  iteration  of  frequent  usage.  But  all 
journeys  have  an  end,  even  the  journeys  of  those  who 
go  down  to  the  River  which  all  must  inevitably  cross, 
and  as  night  fell  the  town  was  reached.  The  train, 
a  long  array  of  freight  cars,  some  of  which  had  been 
used  to  carry  cattle  to  supply  the  army,  and  which 
had  only  been  cleaned  in  the  most  hasty  and  perfunc 
tory  manner,  was  filled  with  wounded,  and  slowly 
clanked  out  of  the  station. 

The  faithful  corporal,  by  dint  of  his  pass,  signed  by 
Dr.  Letterman,  and  his  orders,  upon  which  Kirkwood 
had  induced  Meade  himself  to  write  his  name,  went 
in  the  car  with  Grafton.  He  was  assiduous  in  his 
care  for  the  wounded  Confederate,  but  there  was  lit 
tle  he  could  do  save  to  bathe  his  brow  and  moisten 
his  lips  and  keep  the  bandages  wetted;  for  Grafton 
had  not  yet  regained  consciousness.  When  the  train 
drew  in  to  York  the  next  day  the  townspeople,  who 
had  been  apprised  of  its  coming,  were  down  at  the 
station  with  every  available  vehicle. 

A  few  days  before  the  battle  a  division  of  the 
Confederate  army  had  marched  through  that  town. 
The  men  had  conducted  themselves  like  gentlemen. 
They  had  burned  no  barns,  had  not  pillaged  any 
houses,  had  not  insulted  any  woman.  General  Gor 
don,  who  led  them,  had  indeed  made  a  favourable 
impression  upon  many  citizens  of  the  place,  and  the 


ii2  THE   PATRIOTS 

people  were  grateful.  Naturally  they  preferred  to 
care  for  their  own  wounded,  but  the  Confederate 
soldiers  who  were  intermingled  with  their  Northern 
foemen  were  received  with  little  less  cordiality  and 
treated  with  the  same  kindness  as  the  men  in 
blue. 

The  corporal  was  familiar  with  the  person  of  the 
lady  whom  he  was  seeking,  and  he  easily  found  her 
among  the  hundreds  of  others  who  had  gathered  at 
the  station.  Forcing  his  way  through  the  crowd  he 
saluted  her  and  handed  her  two  notes. 

"  Major  Kirkwood?  "  she  asked,  recognising  that 
he  belonged  to  her  brother's  regiment. 

"  Well,  ma'am." 

"And  Colonel  Manning?" 

"  Just  the  same.  These  letters  are  from  them. 
I've  got  a  wounded  soldier  here  which  they  ask  you 
to  take  care  of,"  continued  the  corporal  as  Kathleen 
hastily  opened  one  of  the  notes,  glanced  over  it  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips  with  a  look  of  relief  upon  her 
face.  The  other  she  did  not  look  at  then. 

"  One  from  either  of  the  regiments?  "  she  asked, 
alluding  to  the  fact  that  both  men  for  whom  she  had 
inquired  had  command  of  their  regiments  that  day. 

"  No,  ma'am.  It's  a  Rebel  soldier.  They  were 
very  particular  ordering  me  to  ask  you  to  take 
him  in." 

"Certainly,  certainly;  where  is  he?" 

"  He's  in  that  car  yonder,  and  I'm  trying  to  get 
an  ambulance." 

"  I  have  a  spring  wagon  here  with  a  mattress  and 
blankets  in  it.  I  knew  there  would  be  need  for  such 
things.  Two  of  the  farm  hands  are  here,  too.  I  will 
send  them  to  you  at  once.  Come  with  me  and  they 
will  go  with  you  and  bring  him  out  here.  Is  he  badly 
wounded?  " 


THE   AFTERMATH   OF    PAIN       113 

"  I  guess  he's  about  done  for,  ma'am.  I  heard  the 
Major  say  that  he'd  about  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
for  his  life,  and  he  thought  you  could  give  it  to  him 
by  nursing." 

"What  is  his  name?"  cried  Kathleen  suddenly. 
The  interest  the  two  men  with  whom  she  was  most 
intimately  associated  had  taken  in  this  Confederate 
soldier  had  awakened  a  sudden  heartbreaking  sus 
picion  in  her  mind. 

"  It's  in  Colonel  Manning's  letter,  ma'am" — it 
was  Manning's  letter  that  she  had  not  opened,  and 
with  rare  consideration  her  brother  had  let  his  friend 
tell  the  story  and  give  direction.  "  His  name  is 
Grafton,"  continued  the  corporal;  "he's  a  sergeant 
in Are  you  ill,  ma'am?  "  asked  the  soldier,  catch 
ing  the  woman  by  the  arm.  She  had  gone  suddenly 
white  and  reeled  and  would  have  fallen  but  for 
him. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  summoning  her  courage  and 
struggling  to  control  herself;  "he  is  not  dead,  you 
say?  " 

"  Not  yet,  ma'am,  but    ...    " 

"Hurry,  hurry!" 

The  corporal  ventured  upon  a  question  as  they 
pushed  through  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  do  you  know  him?  " 

"Know  him?  I  .  .  I  .  .  ."  she  checked 
herself  in  time.  "  Yes,  he  was  a  classmate  of  my 
brother's  at  Harvard." 

The  horses  were  a  nervous  pair,  and  the  crowd,  the 
confusion,  the  tumult,  were  fretting  them  terribly. 
The  man  who  drove  them  could  scarcely  manage 
them,  but  Kathleen  would  not  hear  of  his  remaining. 

"I  can  hold  them,"  she  said;  "go  with  the  cor 
poral,  both  of  you,  and  bring  Mr.  Grafton  here 
immediately.  Quick,  as  you  value  his  life  .  .  and 


n4  THE   PATRIOTS 

mine,"  she  added  under  her  breath  as  the  two  men 
turned  away  with  the  soldier. 

With  the  assistance  of  some  of  the  bystanders  and 
an  improvised  stretcher  Grafton  was  carried  from 
the  car  and  placed  in  the  wagon,  Kathleen,  with  won 
derful  vigour  and  strength,  directing  all.  She  could 
give  way  to  her  emotions  later;  now  there  was  work 
to  do.  He  must  be  saved,  and  she  would  save  him. 
Half  an  hour  later  Grafton  was  laid  on  a  clean  bed 
in  a  great  cool  chamber,  the  windows  of  which  were 
shaded  by  ancient  chestnuts  that  were  full-grown 
trees  when  William  Penn  had  purchased  the  terri 
tory  from  the  Indians  for  a  trifle.  A  doctor  had 
been  summoned  imperiously  by  Kathleen.  The 
wounds  had  been  probed,  the  bullets  extracted,  the 
dressings  renewed,  proper  medicine  prepared  and 
everything  that  medical  skill  could  suggest  had  been 
done.  The  rest  was  with  Kathleen. 

Thus  he  had  come  back  to  her.  She  had  heard  no 
word  from  him  or  about  him  since  that  day  they  had 
parted  with  bitter  words  on  the  porch.  She  had 
striven,  and  with  more  or  less  success,  to  put  him  out 
of  her  heart,  and  out  of  her  mind  as  well,  yet  she 
knew  now  that  her  attempt  had  been  a  failure.  She 
bent  over  him  in  an  agony  of  soul.  He  could  not 
die,  he  must  not  die !  At  least  not  until  she  told  him 
that  she  had  not  meant  it  all.  That  in  spite  of  what 
she  had  said  she  still  loved  him — and  Kathleen  had 
no  right  to  love  him,  nor  had  he  a  right  to  love  her, 
had  he  but  known  it.  Yet  there  are  passions  before 
which  conventions  snap  like  threads.  That  in  the 
woman's  heart  was  of  such  a  character.  There  was 
nothing  in  Grafton's  almost  pulseless  heart  but  a 
great  blackness.  What  would  there  be  when  he 
awakened  ? 

The  doctor  had  said  that  he  could  do  no  more, 


THE   AFTERMATH   OF   PAIN      115 

that  it  was  simply  a  case  of  care.  He  would  come 
every  day,  and,  if  fever  did  not  kill  his  patient  in  the 
meantime  and  if  the  wounds  did  not  refuse  to  heal, 
he  might  pull  him  through.  Kathleen  determined 
that  if  it  were  in  the  power  of  woman  to  supplement 
the  skill  of  man  and  to  move  the  will  of  God,  she 
would  not  be  found  lacking. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   SEARCH   AMONG  THE   SLAIN 

ARIADNE  spent  the  afternoon  and  night  and  the  next 
morning  in  a  state  of  anxiety  unspeakable,  which  her 
kind  hosts  could  not  relieve.  About  midday  a  mes 
senger  handed  in  at  the  front  door  an  envelope  ad 
dressed  to  her  in  a  strange  and  peculiar  handwriting. 
In  one  corner  of  it  were  printed  the  words  "  EXECU 
TIVE  MANSION,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C."  She  tore  it 
open  with  trembling  fingers  and  read  it  with  much 
the  sensations  that  a  man  would  examine  a  paper 
which  might  prove  either  a  death  warrant  or  a  re 
prieve.  It  ran: 

"Mv  DEAR  MRS.  GRAFTON: 

"  Sergeant  Philip  Grafton  of  Pickett's  division  was 
left  wounded  on  Cemetery  Hill.  Colonels  Kirk- 
wood  and  Manning,  who  were  in  command  of  regi 
ments  that  finally  repulsed  the  charge,  had  him  sent 
from  the  field  with  the  first  train  of  wounded,  which 
was  unloaded  at  York,  Pennsylvania.  He  was  un 
conscious  and  desperately  hurt,  but  alive.  If  he  is 
still  alive — and  I  pray  God  he  may  be! — he  will  be 
in  one  of  the  hospitals  in  York. 

"  I  have  secured  a  pass  for  you  to  go  to  York  from 
Secretary  Stanton,  which  I  enclose.  A  special  train 
bearing  medical  supplies  for  the  wounded  at  York 
and  Carlisle  and  elsewhere  leaves  the  station  this 
afternoon.  Here  is  a  permit  to  allow  you  to  go  on 
that  train.  I  hope  you  may  find  your  husband  on  the 

116 


THE    SEARCH   AMONG   THE    SLAIN     117 

road  to  recovery,  and  I  know  that  he  will  be  the  better 
for  your  coming.  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  do  this 
for  you. 

"  Your  sincere  friend  and  well-wisher, 

"ABRAHAM  LINCOLN." 

The  pass  and  the  permit  would  perhaps  have  been 
enough  to  have  carried  Ariadne  safely  to  York,  but 
the  kind  letter  of  the  President,  which  he  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  write  himself,  served  amazingly.  The 
officers  in  charge  of  the  trainload  of  supplies  for  the 
sick  had  nothing  but  sympathy  and  respect  for  the 
beautiful  young  woman  who  was  seeking  her  hus 
band.  There  were  other  women  on  that  train, 
Northern  women,  who  were  bound  upon  similar 
errands.  The  one  touch  of  nature  brought  by  a  com 
mon  grief,  and  a  common  hope,  made  them  all 
friends.  Ariadne  found  herself  listening  to  the  con 
fidences  of  a  grey  old  woman  from  Indiana,  who  was 
coming  to  seek  her  son,  who  had  had  a  leg  shot  off 
at  Gettysburg.  A  heart-broken  young  wife  from 
New  York,  just  able  to  rise  from  a  sickbed,  leaving 
a  new-born  infant  for  others  to  care  for,  was  hurry 
ing  to  the  side  of  her  husband,  who  had  been  shot 
through  the  lungs  and  who  could  not  survive  the 
wound.  A  sad-faced  woman  from  New  Jersey, 
shrouded  in  black,  was  going  to  get  the  body  of  her 
father.  Each  passenger  was  upon  some  such  soul- 
tearing  errand. 

The  little  Confederate  had  thought  she  would  be 
alone  amid  such  an  assemblage,  but  when  they 
learned  her  story  they  opened  their  hearts  to  her  and 
took  her  in.  The  slow  freight  train  reached  York 
quite  early  in  the  morning.  There  were  no  con 
veniences  for  sleeping  on  that  train,  but  Ariadne 
could  not  have  closed  her  eyes  if  she  had  enjoyed 


n8  THE   PATRIOTS 

every  luxury  of  travel.  She  did  not  know  when  she 
had  slept,  indeed.  Of  course,  she  had — human 
nature,  even  under  the  most  spiritual  impulse,  can 
not  long  be  sustained  without  rest.  To  sleep,  to 
eat,  to  drink — these  are  necessary — though  to-day 
the  heart  break  and  to-morrow  we  die.  It  was  not  a 
counsel  of  mere  materialism  that  the  apostle  ad 
dressed  to  those  that  grieved — unless  they  ate  and 
drank  they  could  not  mourn. 

Ariadne  was  too  wise  a  girl  to  waste  her  strength 
where  she  could  avoid  it.  That  regimen  that  she  had 
set  before  herself  to  make  herself  worthy  of  her  hus 
band  she  would  not  abandon,  now,  at  least  until  she 
had  satisfied  herself  that  Philip  no  longer  lived.  He 
was  certainly  desperately  wounded;  perhaps  he  was 
dead.  If  he  were  alive  he  would  need  care  and  nurs 
ing.  She  must  keep  her  strength  for  him.  To  sleep, 
that  was  impossible,  but  she  could,  and  did,  force 
down  her  reluctant  throat  the  good  food  provided 
by  the  kind  officers  of  the  train,  who  were  sorry  for 
her  and  for  all  the  wretched  women. 

The  bright  sunlight  of  the  clear  morning  dazzled 
her  as  she  stepped  out  on  the  platform.  With  the 
selfishness  of  grief — and  they  were  to  be  pardoned 
in  their  anxiety — most  of  the  women  hurried  away 
under  the  escort  of  waiting  friends  or  others  to  whom 
they  could  properly  appeal;  but  poor  Ariadne  was  a 
Rebel — an  alien  from  the  South.  Not  until  she  spoke 
would  any  one  realise  this  fact  from  her  betraying 
speech,  but  she  felt  it  herself.  She  was  a  stranger  in 
a  strange  land,  and  knew  not  where  to  turn  until  she 
came  upon  Mrs.  Gray,  the  woman  who  had  come 
to  claim  the  body  of  her  dead  father.  She  had  hesi 
tated  and  turned  back  to  the  forlorn,  tired,  dusty 
figure  of  her  sister  of  the  South. 

"I  am  in  no  hurry,"  she  said  mournfully;  "mo- 


THE    SEARCH   AMONG   THE    SLAIN     119 

ments  are  nothing  to  me  now.  My  errand  can  wait. 
Can  I  help  you?  Where  was  your  husband  taken?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Your  President  said  that  he  was 
brought  here." 

"  The  President !  "  exclaimed  the  woman. 

*  Yes,  I  have  his  letter." 

"Have  you  a  letter  from  President  Lincoln? 
You,  a  Southern  woman  I  "  asked  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ariadne,  taking  it  from  her 
bosom,  where  she  guarded  it  jealously  as  her  most 
precious  possession,  the  open  sesame  out  of  all  her 
difficulties;  "here  it  is." 

Mrs.  Gray  scanned  it  hastily.  She  was  a  woman 
of  decision.  Her  father  had  been  colonel  of  a  regi 
ment  temporarily  commanding  a  brigade  when  he 
had  been  mortally  wounded.  An  ambulance  stood 
near  the  station.  She  called  the  driver  to  her  with  an 
imperious  gesture. 

'  This  lady,"  she  said,  "  is  looking  for  her 
husband." 

"  There's  many  a  woman  on  the  same  errand, 
ma'am,"  returned  the  man  not  unkindly. 

"  He  was  a  Reb    .    .    a  Confederate  soldier." 

"  There's  a  mort  of  'em  in  town,  ma'am." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  "  and  I  want  you  to 
tell  us  how  to  find  him." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't  help  you,  ma'am." 

"  Can't  you  take  us  in  your  wagon  to  the  different 
hospitals?  " 

"  I  can't  do  it,  ma'am.  I'm  waitin'  here  for 
Colonel  Townley.  He's  got  command  of  the  troops 
hereabouts." 

'Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  station  arrangin'  for  some  special  trains, 
or  .  .  ." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gray  to  Ariadne. 


120  THE   PATRIOTS 

They  met  Colonel  Townley  just  leaving  the  agent's 
office. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  "  this  lady  is  a  Southern 
woman.  She  is  seeking  her  husband,  Mr.  Grafton, 
who  was  brought  here  wounded  from  Gettysburg." 

"What  hospital  is  he  in,  madam?"  asked  the 
colonel  politely. 

"  We  do  not  know.  We  thought  perhaps  you 
could  tell  us." 

"  I'm  very  sorry  I  can't.  Everything  is  in  such 
confusion.  We  are  so  swamped  with  wounded  men 
who  require  attention  that  we  have  but  little  time 
for  reports.  If  your  friend  will  find  quarters  some 
where  and  will  give  me  her  address,  I  will  .  .  ." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Ariadne,  "  my  husband  is  dying  or 
dead.  I  can't  wait!  I  must  see  him  now.  The 
President  told  me  .  .  ." 

"What  President?" 

1  Your  President." 

"  Show  him  the  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  and  again 
Ariadne  brought  it  forth. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you,"  said  the  colonel, 
stepping  out  on  the  platform  after  he  had  read  it. 
"  Orderly,  take  these  ladies  in  my  ambulance  to  every 
hospital  in  the  town.  Present  my  compliments  to  the 
surgeons  in  charge  and  ask  them  if  they  have  a 
patient  named  .  .  what  name  did  you  say, 
madam?  " 

"  Sergeant  Philip  Grafton." 

"  A  Reb  .  .  a  Confederate  soldier  named  Graf- 
ton,  in  their  wards." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  and  may  God  bless  you !  "  cried 
Ariadne,  turning  away. 

"And  what  may  I  do  for  you,  madam?"  asked 
the  colonel,  turning  to  the  other  woman. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  have  an  ambulance  later  on  to 


THE    SEARCH   AMONG   THE    SLAIN    121 

bring  back  the  body  of  my  father  to  the  station,  that 
will  be  all,"  returned  Mrs.  Gray,  biting  her  lip  to 
keep  back  the  tears. 

"  Who  was  your  father,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  Colonel  Morris  of  the  Seventy-first  New  Jersey." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  said  Colonel  Townley,  reach 
ing  his  hand  to  her  in  warm  sympathy.  "  I  knew 
Colonel  Morris  very  well.  He  died  for  his  country 
like  a  hero,  and  you  have  my  sincere  sympathy." 

And  from  the  Northern  lips  there  was  given  to 
the  gallant  officer  the  same  simple  prayer  that  had 
fallen  from  those  of  her  Southern  sister — "  God  bless 
you,  sir."  That  was  all. 

"  But,  Colonel,"  protested  the  orderly  respect 
fully,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do,  sir?  How  are  you 
going  to  get  up  to  camp  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  tents  on  the  hills  several  miles 
away  as  he  spoke. 

"I  will  walk,"  said  the  colonel  simply;  "you  at 
tend  to  the  ladies." 

The  body  of  Colonel  Morris  had  been  removed 
with  other  dead  to  the  building  set  apart  for  the 
purpose,  and,  as  it  was  nearest  the  station,  there 
Ariadne  parted  from  her  new  friend. 

All  that  morning  the  girl  drove  with  the  soldier 
from  one  hospital  to  another.  She  made  inquiry 
every  place  for  her  husband.  She  was  met  every 
where  by  the  statement  that  nothing  whatever  was 
known  of  him.  Everywhere  she  was  invited  into 
the  wards  to  look  among  the  patients,  who  had  been 
unable  to  give  an  account  of  themselves,  to  see  if  one 
of  the  unknown  might  be  he  whom  she  sought.  Such 
an  ordeal  for  a  woman  had  not  come  to  many  of  her 
sex. 

To  walk  through  long  lines  of  unconscious,  silent, 
deathlike  figures;  to  pass  by  cot  after  cot  where  delir- 


122  THE    PATRIOTS 

ious  men  raved  of  home  and  mother,  or  of  the  fight 
ing  on  the  high  places  of  the  field;  to  have  one's  ears 
assailed  by  moans,  curses,  groans,  cries,  and  some 
times  and  most  horrible  of  all,  by  wild  bursts  of 
laughter;  to  look  and  look  and  look  in  face  after  face; 
to  bend  over  figure  after  figure,  with  fear  and  hope 
both  tugging  at  the  heart;  and  to  find — nothing! 
No  sign !  To  have  come  so  far  on  an  errand  of  such 
moment  and  have  it  proved  a  fruitless  quest  in  the 
end.  Yet  the  President  could  not  have  been  mis 
taken  ;  he  must  be  there  !  If  she  could  only  find  him ! 
Finally  she  left  the  last  hospital. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  are  no  more?  "  she  asked  the 
soldier,  as  she  climbed  wearily  into  the  ambulance. 

"  There  .  .  there  is  the  dead  house,"  faltered 
the  man,  his  rough  voice  softening.  He  had  be 
come  nearly  as  much  interested  in  the  search  as  this 
gentle,  uncomplaining,  tireless,  grief-stricken  woman 
by  his  side. 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "  whispered  Ariadne,  "  not  there, 
not  there !  " 

'  What  shall  we  do  next,  then?  "  asked  the  driver. 

"  I  suppose  we'd  better  try  there,"  answered  the 
poor  young  wife,  filled  with  leaden  despairs.  All 
arrangements  had  been  completed  for  sending  away 
the  body  of  Colonel  Morris,  and  Mrs.  Gray  had  come 
back  to  that  point  to  look  after  the  shipment  of  some 
other  of  the  officers  and  men  of  her  father's  regi 
ment,  else  she  would  have  been  gone  long  since.  She 
caught  the  fainting  figure  of  the  Southern  girl  in  her 
arms. 

"  Have  you  found  him,  my  dear?  " 

"  No ;  I  have  been  everywhere.  I  have  looked  in 
every  hospital  and  at  hundreds  of  poor  men.  He 
was  not  there." 

"  And  did  you  think  to  find  him  here?  " 


THE    SEARCH    AMONG   THE    SLAIN     123 

"I  do  not  know;  I  cannot  think  at  all.  I  only 
know  that  I  must  go  on  until  I  find  him." 

A  medical  officer  had  been  detailed  to  attend  to  the 
forwarding  of  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  He  had  kept 
the  records,  so  far  as  they  could  be  compiled,  of 
those  who  had  passed  through  his  hands.  With  a 
desperate  resolution  Ariadne  waited  while  Mrs.  Gray 
explained  her  errand.  No,  there  was  no  Grafton 
on  the  list.  "  Thank  God  for  that!  "  she  breathed. 
There  had  been  many  unknown  dead,  however,  but 
there  was  no  means  of  identifying  them.  One  of 
them  might  have  been  he. 

"  There  are  some  unknown  dead  here,  now,"  con 
tinued  the  surgeon.  "  Would  you  like  to  look  at 
them,  ma'am?  " 

"  I  must,"  said  poor  Ariadne. 

Was  it  harder  or  easier  to  gaze  upon  those  whose 
sufferings  were  over  than  upon  those  who  still  lin 
gered  in  the  hospitals?  The  majesty  of  death  was 
upon  those  faces.  Sometimes  the  anguish  that  had 
gone  before  had  left  its  imprint,  but  generally  they 
were  peaceful.  Each  one  of  them  represented  not 
merely  a  life  quenched,  but  some  woman's  heart 
broken.  Ariadne  was  not  too  selfish  to  say  a  prayer 
for  those  loved  ones  far  away.  She  could  understand 
what  they  must  feel.  No,  he  was  not  there.  What 
should  she  do? 

"  Did  you  try  the  private  houses  in  the  town, 
ma'arn?  "  asked  the  officer.  "  A  great  many  soldiers 
were  taken  there.  Mostly  Union  soldiers,  but  per 
haps  your  husband  might  have  been  among  them." 

It  was  a  forlorn  hope.  The  houses  were  so  many 
and  it  was  afternoon  now.  Ariadne  was  faint,  weary, 
heartbroken.  Probably  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
other  woman,  she  would  have  walked  on  a  little 
space  and  then  have  fallen  and  perhaps  died  if  no- 


124  THE   PATRIOTS 

body  Had  picked  her  up.  But  Mrs.  Gray  found  some 
relief  for  her  own  grief  in  comforting  her  Southern 
sister.  She  took  her  to  the  crowded  hotel.  She  man 
aged  to  find  a  quiet  corner  where  she  persuaded  her 
to  eat  and  drink  and  afterward  to  take  a  little  rest. 
Then  with  a  heart-pang  which  it  would  seem  so  short 
an  acquaintance  could  never  develop,  Ariadne  bade 
the  kind  woman  farewell  and  started  out  once  more 
on  her  search.  She  walked  down  the  main  street  and 
stopped  before  the  first  house  she  came  to. 

"Have  you  any  wounded  soldiers  here?  Is  one 
of  them  named  Graf  ton  .  .  a  Confederate?  "  she 
asked  of  the  woman  who  opened  the  door.. 

It  was  a  question  she  put  many  times  that  long 
afternoon.  Once  in  a  while  she  met  with  a  rebuff, 
but  generally  she  was  received  with  kindness.  She 
was  often  asked  to  come  in,  and  rest  and  partake  of 
refreshment.  But  always  she  refused,  and  plodded 
up  and  down,  street  after  street,  knocking  at  door 
after  door,  until  her  weary  limbs  could  scarcely  drag 
her  along. 

If  Philip  could  ever  know  of  this  he  would  be 
proud  of  her,  she  felt,  if  never  before.  Oh,  if  Philip 
only  knew!  Would  Philip  ever  know  anything? 
Was  he  alive  ?  She  could  not  find  him.  Late  in  the 
evening  she  turned  a  corner  and  sank  down  on  the 
sidewalk.  She  could  go  no  further.  Her  head  fell 
forward  on  her  knees.  She  was  completely  and 
utterly  exhausted.  She  had  expended  the  last  vestige 
of  her  strength  and  energy.  Human  nature  could  not 
be  driven  further  even  by  so  imperative  a  thing  as  her 
heart.  One  or  two  passers-by  stared  at  her  curiously. 
But  no  one  spoke  to  her  and  she  did  not  look  up.  She 
was  dying,  she  thought,  and  she  prayed  it  might 
be  quickly.  If  Philip  were  dead  death  would  be  a 
meeting.  Presently  a  shuffling  barefoot  pattered 


THE    SEARCH   AMONG   THE    SLAIN    125 

softly  upon  the  sidewalk.  A  man  stopped  by  her 
side.  She  heard  a  voice  in  her  ear,  a  familiar  voice, 
exclaiming: 

"  Gawd  a 'mighty,  who  dat?  " 

A  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder.  She  looked 
up. 

"  Please,  ma'am  .  .  ."  Then  there  was  a  sud 
den  cry.  "  Hit's  Miss  'Adny,  Miss  'Adny,  bless  de 
Lord !  Oh,  Miss  'Adny,  Miss  'Adny !  " 

In  wild  excitement  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet, 
finding  a  sudden  renewal  of  vigour  from  what  source 
she  could  not  tell.  There  on  his  knees  before  her, 
clutching  her  dress,  kissing  her  hands,  sobbing,  cry 
ing,  was  Jeff!  Not  the  sleek,  prosperous,  well-fed 
young  black  of  the  plantation  days,  but  Jeff,  thin, 
dirty,  hungry,  barefoot,  ragged !  Jeff,  who  had  been 
with  Philip !  He  would  know ! 

"Jeff,"  cried  the  girl,  "tell  me,  where  is  Mr. 
Grafton?" 

"  Oh,  Miss  'Adny,  I'se  so  glad  ter  see  you.  I  des 
ben  a-prayin'  fer  de  sight  of  you  .  .  ." 

"Tell  me,  tell  me!" 

"  He's  up  yander,  Miss  'Adny,  in  dat  ar  big  house 
on  de  hill.  Dey  put  him  in  dar;  dey  wouldn't  lef 
me  stay  wid  him.  Dey  druv  me  off.  When  Marse 
Phil  cha'ge  up  dat  hill  at  dem  Yankees  an'  he  didn't 
come  back  no  mo',  I  didn't  wait  fer  ter  git  back  wid 
Marse  Rob't.  I  des  tek  to  de  mount'ns  an'  I  reck 
oned  dey  mought  be  er  fotchin'  him  heah,  an'  I  fin' 
out  dat  Marse  Phil  is  brung  to  dat  big  house, 
an'  .  .  ." 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"  No,  but  I  spec'  he  moughty  nigh  it.  He's  des 
a-pinin'  and  a-pinin'  fer  you." 

"  Show  me  the  way!  "  cried  Ariadne,  the  fatigues 
of  the  past  dropping  from  her  like  a  cast-off  garment. 


126  THE   PATRIOTS 

In  a  few  moments  she  followed  the  ragged  negro 
through  a  large  yard  shaded  with  great  chestnut  trees. 
Her  hand  trembled,  not  from  weakness,  but  excite 
ment,  so  that  she  could  hardly  strike  the  knocker 
against  the  plate  upon  the  door  underneath  the  white- 
pillared  porch. 

"  He  asked  for  me,  you  say,  Jeff?  " 

"  He  mus'  a-done  it,  Miss  'Adny,"  said  Jeff.  "  No 
body  aint  tole  me  so,  but  I  des  knows  dat  he's  des 
cryin'  fer  you.  Many  a  time  I  done  see  him  tek  a 
look  at  yo'  picture  in  dat  locket  by  de  camp  fiar." 

"  What  Iccket?  "  asked  Ariadne,  but  she  had  no 
time  to  pursue  an  investigation,  for  the  door  opened. 

A  tall,  beautiful  woman  stood  before  her.  She 
was  as  different  from  Ariadne  as  it  was  possible  for 
a  woman  to  be,  a  splendid,  glorious  creature,  blue- 
eyed,  bright-haired,  cheeks  that  in  happier  days  had 
gloried  with  colour,  although  now  the  pallid  brush 
of  trouble  had  washed  them  white. 

"  Madam,"  said  a  low,  pleasant  voice,  expectantly. 

"I  .  .  I  am  looking  for  a  soldier  .  .  called 
Graf  ton.  A  Confederate  soldier.  Is  he  here?  " 

"  He  is." 

"Is  he  alive?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Thank  God !    Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  that  room  yonder." 

Ariadne  started  forward.  The  woman  interposed 
a  hand  and  would  have  questioned  her  further.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  with  an  emotion  of  some  kind;  what 
it  was  Ariadne  did  not  know  or  care. 

"  I  have  come  from  Richmond  to  see  him,"  she 
cried,  and  brushed  aside  the  woman  without  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation.  Followed  by  Jeff  she  entered  the 
room. 

At  last  there,  indeed,  lay  Philip  Grafton.    He  was 


THE    SEARCH   AMONG   THE    SLAIN    127 

burning  with  fever,  his  eyes  were  like  stars.  He  was 
moving  his  head  uneasily  on  the  pillow.  One  of  his 
wasted  hands  lay  on  the  coverlid.  He  was  deathly 
white  and  terribly  thin.  Ariadne  stopped,  appalled. 
She  clasped  her  hands.  A  long  silence  followed. 
Her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  her  body  shook.  Jeff  flung 
himself  upon  the  floor  at  his  master's  feet. 

"  Oh,  Marse  Phil !  "  he  sobbed,  "  doan  you  know 
me?  Gawd  a-mighty,  heh's  Miss  'Adny  come  fer 
you,  Marse  Phil." 

The  woman  who  had  admitted  these  two  had  fol 
lowed  them  and  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  room 
watching.  She  did  not  understand  who  this  strange 
girl  could  be,  but  her  heart  sank  with  a  sudden  pre 
monition  of  disaster. 

"Miss  'Adny?"  she  asked  inquiringly,  stepping 
forward.  "  You  are  a  friend,  a  relation,  of  this 
gentleman,  perhaps?" 

"  Madam,"  gasped  Ariadne  brokenly,  "  I  am  his 
wife!" 


CHAPTER   XII 

REVELATIONS 

THE  words  smote  Kathleen  like  a  blow.  Like  one 
stunned  she  stared  in  silent  amazement  at  the  figure 
of  the  other  woman.  Incapable  of  movement  for 
the  moment,  she  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  watching 
Ariadne  with  the  fascination  of  a  charmed  bird. 
Surprise,  resentment,  hatred — of  Ariadne,  not  Graf- 
ton — succeeded  each  other  in  her  heart  and  were 
expressed  in  her  mobile  countenance.  She  had  never 
thought  of  this  possibility,  and  the  shock  of  the,  to 
her,  abrupt  disclosure  was  almost  more  than  she 
could  bear.  His  wife !  This,  then,  was  the  faith 
fulness  of  which  she  had  dreamed,  and  she  had  even 
found  her  picture  over  his  heart !  How  could  that 
be  since  he  was  married  to  another? 

Grafton  had  either  been  delirious  or  in  a  state  of 
coma  since  she  had  received  him  in  her  home,  but 
his  talk — senseless  raving  though  it  was — had  always 
been  of  her.  Once  or  twice  she  had  caught  words 
of  endearment,  caressive  terms  with  which  she  had 
not  been  familiar  from  his  lips,  and  she  had  wondered 
and  sought  some  explanation  of  them,  but  not  long. 
The  burden  of  his  speech  had  been  for  her,  of  her, 
of  her  beauty,  her  cruelty,  his  love — and  now  his  wife 
bent  over  him! 

Kathleen  hated  the  South ;  she  hated  its  cause,  she 
disliked  the  Southern  people.  But,  most  of  all,  she 
hated  Ariadne.  If  love  can  spring  full-armed  from 
the  human  heart  in  an  instant,  so  can  its  opposite 
make  an  immediate  place  for  itself  in  the  human  soul. 

128 


REVELATIONS  129 

What  right  had  this  slender,  pale-faced  Southern 
woman  to  rob  her  of  Philip's  love,  what  right? 
But  stay.  What  right  had  she,  Kathleen,  to  crave 
Philip  Grafton's  love?  She  had  driven  him  from 
her,  she  had  broken  the  engagement.  She  had,  so 
she  had  declared,  put  him  out  of  her  heart  forever. 
She  had  affected  to  despise  him  as  she  had  rejected 
him,  and,  furthermore,  she  had — but  Ariadne  was 
speaking.  Kathleen  concentrated  her  attention  on 
this  most  unwelcome  visitor. 

Since  she  answered  that  question  with  one  rapid 
glance  toward  Kathleen,  Ariadne  had  not  looked  at 
the  other  woman.  She  had  only  stared  and  stared  at 
her  dying  husband. 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip !  "  she  murmured  softly,  "  to 
see  you  here!  You  do  not  know  me.  You  don't 
know  how  I  have  tried  to  live  for  you,  for  you! 
How  I  have  loved  you.  If  you  could  only  know  that 
I  am  here!  If  I  could  only  tell  you  once  more  be 
fore  you  leave  me  how  I  love  you !  You  were  so 
good  to  me  always.  If  you  could  only  speak  just 
one  word  to  tell  me  again  that  you  love  me!  .  . 
your  wife  .  .  Philip,  Philip ! 

Her  words  ran  on  softly,  brokenly,  regardless  of 
who  might  hear  her.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  soul  voiced 
for  the  dead  which  could  make  no  answer.  There 
were  death  and  destruction  in  the  heart  of  one  of 
the  listeners  of  whom  Ariadne  was  so  oblivious. 
Kathleen  could  endure  it  no  longer.  Her  face 
flamed.  Forgetful  for  the  moment  that  Grafton  lay 
dying  apparently,  she  stepped  quickly  forward  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  her  rival's  arm.  It  was  well 
that  she  did  so,  for  Ariadne  could  stand  no  more. 
She  sank,  a  limp  inert  figure,  in  the  arms  of  the 
other  woman.  She  had  collapsed  utterly  in  a  dead 
faint. 


130  THE   PATRIOTS 

It  was  a  curious  situation  for  the  mocking  Fates. 
The  woman  who  loved  Philip  Grafton  and  the 
woman  he  loved  stood  over  his  senseless,  dying  body 
holding  in  her  arms  she  who  was  his  wife — inert, 
unconscious,  helpless.  Kathleen  was  a  strong  woman, 
superbly  vigorous.  Ariadne  could  not  be  com 
pared  to  her  in  that.  There  was  something  fierce 
in  the  gesture  with  which  the  Northern  woman  caught 
the  Southern.  For  a  second  her  arms  tightened  about 
her  in  obedience  to  an  angry,  hateful  impulse,  which 
was  gone  in  the  instant.  Ariadne  was  a  woman  in 
trouble.  All  the  goodness  in  Kathleen's  soul — and 
there  was  much — came  to  the  surface  at  once. 

"  Here !  "  she  cried  sharply  to  the  dazed,  be 
wildered  negro  boy,  "  help  me.  Take  her  feet.  We 
will  lay  her  on  that  lounge  yonder." 

Jeff  had  been  a  slave  all  his  life,  but  he  had  never 
been  so  imperiously  spoken  to  before. 

"  Yas'm,"  he  answered,  moving  with  astonish 
ing  celerity  to  obey  her  command. 

Between  the  two  they  got  Ariadne  on  the  sofa. 
Bidding  Jeff  look  to  his  master,  who  was  never  left 
alone,  Kathleen  loosened  Ariadne's  gown,  applied 
restoratives,  bathed  her  face,  chafed  her  hands,  used 
every  expedient  that  the  homely  treatment  of  the 
day  gave  her  knowledge  of,  to  restore  her  to  con 
sciousness.  The  shock  to  Ariadne  had  been  a  severe 
one,  and  it  was  some  little  time  before  she  opened  her 
dark  eyes  and  looked  in  bewilderment  into  the  blue 
ones  bending  over  her.  But  with  consciousness 
memory  came  with  a  rush. 

'  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  murmured,  "  but 
I  must  go  to  Philip." 

She  strove  to  rise,  but  Kathleen's  firm  hand  kept 
her  down. 

"  Lie  still,"  she  said  sternly,  "  for  a  few  moments 


REVELATIONS  131 

at  least."  She  looked  toward  the  bed.  "  There 
has  been  no  change.  My  God  .  ."  her  voice  rose 
almost  to  a  cry  .  .  "  how  I  have  watched  him ! 
There  has  been  no  change  for  days." 

"  If  it  means  so  much  to  you,"  said  Ariadne,  notic 
ing,  although  not  comprehending,  the  depth  of  feel 
ing  in  the  reply,  "  think  what  it  means  to  me.  I  .  « 
I  am  his  wife " — why  that  damnable  iteration? 
Kathleen  could  have  struck  her ! — "  and  I  love  him 
so.  Let  me  go  to  him  I  " 

"  You  are  weak,  ill.  Have  you  had  anything  to 
eat?" 

"  Something  at  noon.  There  was  a  kind  Northern 
woman  at  the  hotel.  I  walked  the  streets  all  day 
long.  He  wasn't  at  any  of  the  hospitals  or  at  the 
Dead  House.  No  one  knew  of  him.  How  can  I 
ever  thank  you  for  taking  him  in?  " 

"  I  was  glad  to  do  it.  You  haven't  asked  what  my 
name  is." 

"  I  do  not  need  to  know  it  to  know  that  you  have 
been  an  angel  of  mercy  and  kindness  to  one  I  love, 
but  I  should  like  to  know  it  that  I  may  never  forget 
to  remember  you  in  my  prayers." 

"  My  name  is  Manning,  Mrs.  George  Manning." 

"  I  have  heard  Philip  mention  that  name,"  said 
Ariadne;  "  he  was  a  college  friend,  was  he  not?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  now  a  colonel  in  the  Massachusetts 
line.  He  sent  Phil  .  .  Mr.  Grafton  here." 

"  Did  you  know  my  husband  before  the  war?  " 

"  I  had  met  him,"  replied  Kathleen  evasively. 
"  But  you  must  not  talk  any  more  now.  I  shall  go 
and  get  you  something  to  eat.  Every  woman  in  the 
town  is  in  the  hospitals.  I  gave  up  my  own  servants 
for  that  purpose  with  the  rest.  I  have  only  one 
woman  and  a  hired  man  or  two  and  that  woman 
shared  the  watch  over  .  .  your  .  ."  Kathleen 


132  THE   PATRIOTS 

could  not  frame  the  word — "  over  Mr.  Grafton. 
She  is  asleep  now,  and  her  rest  is  sacred." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Ariadne,  sitting  up.  "  I  will 
take  charge  now.  You  can  devote  yourself  to  your 
own  people.  Your  maid  and  I  ..." 

"  No  one  shall  relieve  me  of  my  charge,"  cried 
Kathleen. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  but  I  am  his  wife." 

Ariadne  looked  up  fearlessly  at  the  other  woman. 
She  had  no  cause  for  alarm.  She  did  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  understand  the  true  situation.  She 
wondered,  of  course,  at  the  other's  voice  and  man 
ner,  but  she  set  it  down  to  ways  and  customs  with 
which  she  was  not  familiar.  Ariadne's  life  had  been 
a  very  circumscribed  one.  The  plantation,  the  quiet 
years  at  Richmond,  Philip,  had  been  her  horizon. 
It  takes  a  great  man  or  a  great  love  to  fill  the  horizon 
of  a  woman's  vision — and  Ariadne's  was  a  great 
love.  Kathleen  put  strong  constraint  upon  herself 
and  kept  back  the  answer  that  rushed  to  her  lips.  As 
she  turned  to  leave  the  room  Ariadne  stopped  her. 

"  My  husband's  man,  Jeff  here,  is  an  admirable 
cook.  He  can  do  almost  everything,  in  fact,  and  he 
will  be  glad  to  help  you." 

Kathleen  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  the  negro,  who 
waited  near  the  foot  of  his  master's  bed.  He  looked 
anything  but  capable  or  efficient. 

"  John,"  she  said  in  a  puzzled  way,  referring  to 
her  hired  man,  "  said  there  had  been  a  vagrant  negro 
here  inquiring  for  this  officer.  Why  didn't  you  de 
clare  yourself  ?  " 

*  'Deed,  my  lady,  I  didn't  know  wat  mought 
happen  to  me.  I  'uz  afeer'd  dem  Yankees  mought 
clap  me  right  inter  de  prison,  an'  I  was  des  projekin* 
round  der  to  git  sum  way  to  see  Marse  Phil  heah  an' 
den  to  fotch  Miss  'Adny.  I  knowed  he'd  nebber 


REVELATIONS  133 

lib  widout  de  HT  Mistis'.  I  see  him  w'en  he 
didn't  think  I  lookin',  an'  he  ain't  ca'in'  nohow, 
w'en  he  tek  out  dat  HP  locket  an'  look  at  de  paintin' 
an'  shek  he  haid  an'  sigh  des  lak  he  gret  heart  mos' 
ready  fer  to  bus'.  I  knowd  how  he  done  lub  liP 
Mistis  heah.  He  ain't  sayin'  much  'bout  her  an'  he 
eyes  fill  wid  tears.  But  he  doan  cry,  he  jest  shet  he 
mouf  an'  .  .  ." 

"  Jeff,  what  are  you  saying?  Mister  Philip  has  no 
picture  of  me?  " 

"  'Deed  he  had,«ma'am;  I  done  see  hit." 
Ariadne  looked  toward  the  other  woman  in  be 
wilderment.     "What  does  he  mean?"  she  asked. 

"  My  dear  madam,  how  should  I  know?  "  began 
Kathleen,  who  knew  well  enough  what  was  about  to 
happen.  Indeed,  into  her  mind  light  had  come.  She 
had  noted  the  locket  when  Philip  had  been  brought 
to  her  and  had  seen  it  often  while  she  dressed  the 
wound  in  his  shoulder.  She  knew  that  locket,  too; 
it  was  her  own.  Once  she  had  yielded  to  temptation 
and  looked  to  see  if  it  still  contained  her  picture — a 
wrong  deed,  but  only  those  who  have  been  in  such 
a  situation  might  censure;  only  those  who  have  felt 
such  an  appeal,  blame.  So  this  wife  knew  nothing 
of  the  locket  her  husband  wore?  That  was  the  first 
point  that  struck  Kathleen.  In  that  locket  was  the 
face  of  the  woman  whom  he  had  loved  before  he 
had  married  this  other.  He  loved  her  still,  then. 
Kathleen  looked  swiftly,  eagerly  into  the  face  of  the 
other  woman  in  sudden  suspicion. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  cried,  "  are  you  really  his  wife!  " 
Another  time  Ariadne  would  have  resented  such 
a  question  with  righteous  indignation,  but  there  was 
something  below  all  this  which  she  could  not  fathom. 
This  woman  acted  so  strangely.  The  question  meant 
something.  What?  She  would  try  to  find  out. 


i34  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  I  am,"  she  replied  firmly. 

"  But  you  are  so  young!  " 

"  I  was  just  sixteen  when  he  married  me,  and  he 
was  to  claim  me  after  the  war  was  over." 

She  could  hardly  explain  why  she  made  that  last 
statement.  Her  relations  to  Grafton  were  no  con 
cern  of  this  strange  woman's — yet  Ariadne  would  not 
sail  under  false  colors  a  moment.  Something  con 
strained  her  to  add  that  explanation. 

"  And  the  war  is  not  over,"  cried  Kathleen,  a  bit 
ter  smile  of  triumph  upon  her  lips.  "  I  understand  it 
now." 

"  Understand  what?  There  is  some  mystery  here, 
madam.  I  demand  to  know  it!  " 

One  of  those  swift  revulsions  of  feeling  to  which 
women  are  prone  came  over  Kathleen,  who  was  in 
many  ways  a  creature  of  impulse,  and  for  whose 
alternations  of  thought  and  action  there  was  another 
excuse.  Her  heart  was  full  of  sudden  pity  for  the 
poor  unclaimed,  unloved  wife. 

"  Don't  ask,"  she  said;  "  let  me  persuade  you.  Lie 
down  once  more;  you  are  not  strong." 

"  I  am  strong  enough  for  anything  that  concerns 
my  husband." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  said  Kathleen,  who 
had  been  standing  between  Ariadne  and  the  bed. 
She  now  stepped  aside  and  pointed  to  Grafton.  Ari 
adne  walked  over  to  the  bed  and  bent  over  her  hus 
band,  the  unconscious  subject  of  all  this  strife.  She 
folded  back  the  sheet,  opened  the  breast  of  his  night 
shirt,  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  the  bandages,  and 
there  lay  a  locket.  A  little  gold  locket  shaped  like  a 
heart.  She  had  never  seen  it;  she  did  not  know  what 
it  contained. 

"  Yas'm,  dat's  hit,"  said  Jeff,  who  had  followed  the 
scene  with  interest,  although  he  comprehended  little 


REVELATIONS  135 

of  it;  "  dat's  de  ve'y  one.  I  done  see  him  kiss  hit 
an'  .  .  ." 

Ariadne  closed  the  shirt  and  drew  back  the  cover. 

u  Don't  you  want  to  see  the  picture  inside?  "  asked 
Kathleen. 

"  No,"  said  Ariadne,  wrenching  the  statement 
from  quivering  lips;  "  it  is  my  husband's  secret.  I 
should  not  dream  of  opening  that  locket  now." 

But  Ariadne  was  doubly  bereaved  now.  She  had 
never  had  a  picture  taken  that  would  go  in  a  locket 
of  that  size.  She  knew  instinctively  that  it  could 
not  be  her  likeness  that  her  husband  had  stared  at 
and  kissed  so  often.  She  jumped  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  might  be  that  of  Kathleen  Kirkwood,  whose 
name  had  been  so  frequent  in  those  latterday  letters 
from  college.  Yet  Grafton  was  the  soul  of  honour 
— he  had  sworn  there  was  nothing  between  them. 
Had  he  deceived  her?  She  could  no  longer  doubt 
it.  Love,  faith,  hope — all  went  from  Ariadne  in 
that  moment.  Grafton  was  dying.  She  could  have 
endured  that,  this  wife  in  name  only,  if  she  could 
have  believed  that  he  loved  her.  It  was  evident  now 
that  he  did  not.  She  might  have  sustained  the  loss 
of  his  affection  if  she  could  have  cherished  his  name 
in  honour.  Even  that  was  denied  her !  No  sudden 
death  warrant  read  in  the  midst  of  life,  joy,  peace, 
health,  strength,  could  have  shocked  her  more. 

So  it  was  for  this  recreant  she  had  striven  to  make 
herself  a  good  wife!  For  this  deceiver  she  had 
cherished  such  high  ideals,  which  she  had  striven  so 
hard  to  follow !  Was  it  for  this  revelation  that  she 
had  overcome  obstacles,  that  she  had  pleaded  with 
two  Presidents  and  braved  dangers  and  difficulties 
without  limit?  Was  it  in  search  for  this  traitor  she 
had  agonised  in  the  hospitals?  Had  walked  street 
after  street  searching  for  him  until  she  dropped? 


136  THE   PATRIOTS 

Ariadne  was  of  finer  fibre  than  the  other  woman. 
The  temptation  that  urged  her  to  look  In  that  locket 
was  greater  than  that  felt  by  Kathleen,  but  she  did 
not  look.  The  other  woman  watched  her  eagerly. 
She  had  anticipated  a  moment  of  triumph.  Ari 
adne  had  frustrated  that  expectation.  Well,  she 
should  be  made  to  look!  Brushing  aside  the  unre 
sisting  wife,  Kathleen  in  turn  approached  the  pros 
trate  figure.  Ariadne  watched  her,  scarcely  conscious 
in  the  blinding  agony  in  her  soul  of  what  she  was 
about.  Kathleen  nervously  drew  down  the  sheet, 
opened  the  shirt,  lifted  the  locket.  Then  Ariadne 
realised. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  touch  it !  "  she  cried.  What 
ever  happened  she  was  still  Philip's  wife,  and  while 
he  lay  there  helpless,  hers  was  the  decision  in  mat 
ters  in  which  he  was  involved.  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  the  other  woman  as  she  spoke, 
but  Ariadne's  spirit,  great  though  it  was,  was  no 
match  for  Kathleen's  strength  backed  by  her  fierce 
anger  and  jealousy. 

'  You  shall  see  it !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  Her 
fingers  found  the  spring.  "Look!  "  She  detached 
it  from  the  chain  and  held  it  open  before  the  eyes 
of  the  other  woman. 

For  a  moment  Ariadne  tried  to  close  her  eyes.  She 
thanked  God  afterward  that  she  had  succeeded  in 
doing  so,  but  no  movement  of  the  eyelid  could  be 
quick  enough  to  prevent  her  recognising  the  face  in 
the  locket  as  that  of  the  woman  who  thrust  it  before 
her. 

1  You  I  "she  cried. 

"  I!  It's  my  picture!  My  locket!  He  looked  at 
it  in  camp,  your  husband.  He  kissed  it  there!  He 
thought  of  me !  " 

"Gawd  a'mighty!"  gasped  Jeff,  perceiving  now 


REVELATIONS  137 

whither  his  indiscreet  babbling  had  tended,  "  I 
thought  .  .  I  thought  it  was  .  .  ." 

"Silence!  "  interrupted  Kathleen,  who  would  not 
have  her  triumph  spoiled  by  any  such  interruption. 
"  He  loves  me,  he  loved  me  from  the  very  first !  Not 
you  !  See,  the  evidence !  " 

She  shook  the  little  damning  trinket  before  the 
Southern  girl.  Ariadne  started  and  stared  at  the 
woman  and  the  locket.  Still  she  did  not  under 
stand. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  she  asked  at  last. 

*  The  woman  he  loves !  " 

"  Your  name,  your  real  name?  " 

"  Kathleen,"  said  a  faint  voice  from  the  pillow, 
"  for  God's  sake  don't  cast  me  off  because  I  must 
go  with  the  South !  I  can't  help  that  any  more  .  . 
than  .  .  loving  you." 

The  feeble  voice  died  away.  It  was  as  if  fate  itself 
had  spoken.  No  more  startling  could  have  been  the 
speech  of  Bacon's  bronzed  head.  The  two  women 
listened  to  that  voice  from  the  dead  in  silence. 

"  I  am  .  .  I  was  Kathleen  Kirkwood,"  said  the 
elder  woman  at  last. 

"  But  you  .  .  you  said  your  name  was 
Manning." 

Kathleen's  face  flamed  with  colour.  She  had  for 
gotten  it! 

"  And  do  you,  a  married  woman,  love  my  hus 
band?  "  persisted  Ariadne. 

What  was  the  use  of  denying  it  ? 

"  Yes,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Shame!" 

"  Spare  me  your  comment,  madam." 

"  And  does  my  husband,  a  married  man,  love 
you?" 

"  I  believe  so;  I  hope  so." 


138  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  why  don't  You  strike  me 
dead?  That  I  should  live  to  hear  this!  " 

"Miss  'Adny,  Miss  'Adny!  '  cried  Jeff,  clumsily 
stepping  forward,  flashing  a  look  of  hatred  at  the 
other  woman.  Ariadne  turned  to  him. 

"  And  you  say  that  he  used  to  look  at  that  locket 
.  .  to  kiss  it?" 

"  No,  'deed,  I  was  mistooken,  Miss  'Adny.  I 
nebber  see  him  wid  no  locket,  'deed,  I  ain't  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  a  kindly  lie,  Jeff,  but  I  wish  the  truth  now." 

"  Well,  den,  Miss  'Adny,  yas'm,"  answered  the 
negro  desperately.  "  I  wish  ter  Gawd  I  done  got 
shot  befo'  young  Marse  Phil  come  heah." 

"  But  he  swore  to  me  on  his  word  of  honour  that 
there  was  nothing  between  you,"  said  Ariadne,  turn 
ing  to  the  other  woman. 

"  He  told  the  truth,"  said  Kathleen  in  answer  to 
the  mute  appeal  to  the  other's  statement.  Another 
swift  change  in  her  feelings  had  taken  place.  She 
was  sorry  and  ashamed.  '  There  was  nothing.  I 
was  a  foolish  girl,"  she  went  on.  "  I  told  him  he 
would  have  to  give  up  the  South  or  me.  I  didn't 
know.  I  thought  I  could  persuade  him.  I've  never 
seen  him  nor  heard  from  him  since  that  day."  She 
made  this  admission  grudgingly.  Yet  she  could  do 
no  other.  She,  too,  would  fain  defend  Grafton's 
honour,  even  at  the  expense  of  her  triumph  in  his 
love. 

"  You  don't  know  the  gentlemen  of  Virginia," 
said  Ariadne  proudly;  "they  prize  honour  above 
everything,  even  love." 

"Is  that  an  evidence?"  cried  Kathleen,  angry 
again,  pointing  to  the  prostrate  figure. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  although  I  .  .  I  know  he 
doesn't  .  .  love  me  .  .  how  could  he  .  .  you 
are  so  beautiful  .  .  and  I  am  nothing."  Kathleen 


REVELATIONS  139 

bit  her  lip.  "  Yet  he  told  me  the  truth.  It  was 
broken  off;  there  was  nothing  between  you.  He  saw 
how  much  I  .  .  I  loved  him." 

There  was  great  relief  in  Ariadne's  voice.  Philip 
did  not  love  her,  but  he  had  spoken  truly.  Some  of 
her  faith  came  back  to  her,  and  she  thanked  God  for 
it.  If  she  had  to  choose  between  a  lost  love  and  a 
lost  faith,  she  would  have  let  her  heart  be  the  sufferer. 
She  let  Kathleen  see  that,  too.  There  was  no  veiling 
of  passions  now  between  these  women.  They  had 
got  down  to  things  elemental  and  simple  in  this  great 
crisis.  Their  hearts  were  naked  to  each  other,  and 
even  Jeff  was  an  unconsidered  trifle. 

"  He  had  lost  you,"  Ariadne  continued,  justify 
ing  Philip  to  herself  and  to  the  other  woman.  Her 
husband  might  love  whom  he  would,  whom  he  must, 
she  thought,  but  no  one  should  impugn  his  honour. 
She  reproached  herself  that  she  had  done  so  in  her 
heart  for  a  moment.  "  I  see  it  all,  now,"  she  said. 
"  He  .  .  thought  he  could  make  me  happy  .  . 
and  Grandfather  happy.  So  he  married  me.  He  was 
always  kind  to  me.  I  am  glad  to  have  my  trust  in 
him  restored.  Now  .  .  I  .  .  I  must  take  him 
away." 

"  You  cannot,"  said  Kathleen  bluntly.  "  It  would 
be  certain  death  to  move  him." 

"  Poor  Philip,  and  will  life  hereafter  be  so  pleas 
ant  to  you  that  you  crave  it?"  thought  Ariadne 
swiftly.  "  You  are  right,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  sup 
pose  he  must  stay  here  and  .  .  ." 

"  And  you  must  also." 

"And  eat  your  bread,  accept  your  hospitality?" 

"  But  think!  Could  anything  drive  you  from  the 
side  of  your  husband  now?  "  pleaded  the  Northern 
woman,  somewhat  strangely  eager  to  keep  Ariadne 
there. 


i4o  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  I  have  no  money ;  I  have  spent  it  all  getting  here. 
But  here  is  my  watch.  It  is  worth  a  great  deal  of 
money.  Philip  gave  it  to  me.  That  will  pay  you." 

"  Do  you  think  I  wish  pay,  that  I  would  take  any 
thing?  "  cried  Kathleen  violently,  wishful  to  strike 
the  outstretched  hand. 

"  Madam,"  said  Ariadne,  with  a  sudden  blaze  of 

Eassion,  "  I  will  leave  the  house  this  instant  un- 
!ss  .  .  ." 

Kathleen  realised  the  situation.  The  woman  must 
stay  with  her  husband  now  that  there  had  been  such 
a  revelation  between  them.  There  was  no  other  way. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  although  I  shall  give 
it  to  charity  I  must  let  you  have  your  own  way." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Ariadne. 

She  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  bed  and  took  her 
husband's  hand  in  her  own. 

"  You  will  not  prevent  me  from  helping  you  to 
nurse  him?  "  queried  Kathleen,  gone  suddenly  hum 
ble.  There  was  something  so  desperately  hopeless, 
crushed  about  Ariadne's  look  that  it  actually  ap 
pealed  to  the  other  woman.  The  triumph  had  been 
such  a  sorry  affair,  after  all. 

"  No,"  said  the  wife,  "  you  he  loves  and  your 
presence  may  help  him  .  .  I  .  .  I  shall  assist 
you.  I  shall  do  what  you  say." 

"  I  shall  leave  you  alone  with  him  for  a  little  while, 
then,"  said  Kathleen.  "  Come,  Jeff." 

She  walked  out  quickly  and  closed  the  door,  and  no 
one  knew  what  the  effort  cost  her.  She  pictured 
Ariadne  bending  over  her  husband  and  pressing 
kisses  upon  his  brow.  She  could  almost  hear  her 
whispered  endearments.  It  was  torture  to  her,  tor 
ture  the  more  keen  because  all  the  time  her  conscience 
smote  her  at  the  thought  of  that  brave  and  gallant 
soldier  on  the  field,  who  had  trusted  her  and  her 


REVELATIONS  141 

honour,  whose  note  committed  his  whilom  friend  to 
her  care.  The  note  lay  on  her  secretary,  where  she 
had  carelessly  tossed  it  as  she  found  it  in  her  pocket 
the  day  after  Grafton's  arrival.  She  had  betrayed 
her  husband's  trust,  in  thought  at  least.  She  had 
betrayed  herself  to  this  woman,  Grafton's  wife! 
With  a  bosom  wrung  and  torn  with  conflicting  emo 
tions  she  sank  down  before  that  secretary  and 
dropped  her  head  upon  the  soldierly  scrawl,  written 
almost  in  blood  as  it  were,  which  carried  the  love 
and  confidence  of  her  husband,  and  sobbed  and 
sobbed,  while  Jeff,  with  that  instinctive  good  breed 
ing  which  slaves  sometimes  caught  from  their  masters, 
softly  left  the  room. 

But  Ariadne  did  not  weep.  She  only  looked 
piteously  at  her  husband  with  every  hope,  every  aspi 
ration  gone.  She  would  have  prayed,  had  it  been 
possible,  that  she  might  change  places  with  him  lying 
there  still  and  dying  on  the  bed.  The  fountains  of 
the  great  deeps  within  her  were  suddenly  dried  up 
and  her  soul  had  become  an  arid  waste  of  mute  ex 
pressionless  sorrow.  The  head  on  the  pillow  moved 
uneasily  and  turned  in  her  direction. 

"  Little  sweetheart,"  came  the  words  brokenly. 
She  bent  forward  in  one  flash  of  hope  instantly  gone. 
There  was  no  recognition  in  the  wild  eyes  that  met 
her  own.  "  If  I  could  only  have  loved  her,"  the 
fevered  voice  ran  on,  "  Ariadne  .  .  ." 

And  it  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  mentioned 
her  name  since  he  had  been  stricken  down  upon  that 
fatal  hill. 


BOOK  THREE 
Kathleen 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    DOUBLE    TRUST 

THEREAFTER  a  strange  wrestle  with  death  began; 
two  women,  their  differences  in  abeyance,  fighting  for 
the  life  of  Philip  Grafton.  A  truce,  definite  and 
clearly  understood,  although  its  provisions  were  not 
committed  to  writing  or  made  the  subject  of  protocols, 
subsisted  between  them.  Kathleen's  strong  common 
sense  and  Ariadne's  sweet  reasonableness  brought 
about  a  modus  vivendi. 

At  first  Ariadne  had  peremptorily  refused  to  leave 
the  bedside  of  her  husband.  From  a  perfectly  natural 
feeling  of  delicacy,  Kathleen,  who  had  been  putting 
strong  constraint  upon  herself,  had  hesitated  to 
urge  her  to  take  any  rest  even.  But  such  a  persistent 
watch  as  the  wife  sought  to  keep  was  impossible  to 
nature.  Ariadne  would  have  become  ill  if  something 
had  not  broken  the  deadlock.  The  initiative  came 
from  the  older  woman. 

"  I  understand  how  you  feel,  madam,"  she  said 
after  some  hard  thinking,  "  but  you  must  see  that  the 
watch  over  your  " — she  could  not  frame  that  decid 
ing  word — "  over  Mr.  Grafton  must  be  divided. 
If  there  should  be  a  change  of  any  sort,  any  change 
for  better  or  for  worse,  if  he  should  regain  conscious 
ness  during  my  hours  of  duty,  I  will  summon  you 
instantly." 

"  You  will  surely  do  so  ?  "  asked  Ariadne,  search 
ing  the  other  woman's  face  with  wistful  glance. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour." 


i46  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  There  is  no  need,  I  believe  you.  It  must  be  as 
you  say.  I  will  go  and  get  rest,  if  I  can." 

"  You  may  depend  upon  me,  madam.  I  shall  keep 
faith." 

"  You  are  not  keeping  faith  with  your  own  hus 
band,"  murmured  the  tired  Ariadne,  quite  uncon 
scious  for  the  moment  that  she  was  voicing  her 
thoughts. 

"  How  dare  you !  "  cried  Kathleen,  crimson  with 
anger. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  gentle  Southern 
woman  deprecatingly.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  speak 
aloud,  but  what  I  said  is  true  and  .  .  he,  too,  was 
faithless  .  .  almost."  She  turned  toward  her  hus 
band  as  if  to  comprehend  him  in  the  compact  of 
broken  faith. 

"  If  you  only  knew  I  .  .  how  much  .  .  we 
cared  .  .  before  .  ."  began  Kathleen  impul 
sively. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Ariadne,  "  that  I  do  not 
know  what  love  is  .  .  and  unrequited  love,  at 
that?  Yet  .  .  ." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  cried  Kathleen,  "  that  I  am 
not  struggling  against  it  now?  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  that  I  had  never  seen  him  again!  I  am  mar 
ried  to  Colonel  Manning.  He  is  kindness  and  devo 
tion  to  me  itself.  He  is  fighting  the  battles  of  his 
country  now.  It  was  he  and  my  brother  who  sent  " — 
she  forced  the  word — this  time — "  your  husband  to 
me.  They  trusted  me.  For  God's  sake  don't  stand 
and  look  at  me  like  a  white-faced  conscience !  You 
know  how  you  loved  him.  Try  to  understand  .  . 
me." 

The  slender,  youthful  Ariadne,  so  straight,  so 
dauntless,  was  the  stronger  and  older,  after  all.  The 
burden  of  the  other  woman's  wayward  passion  was 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  147 

upon  her.    She  put  out  her  hand  and  drew  Kathleen 
toward  her. 

'  You  poor  woman,"  she  said,  comprehending  and 
pitying  another's  sorrow  through  her  own  suffering 
— the  true  precious  jewel  of  adversity — "  I  do  under 
stand.  May  God  help  you  and  turn  your  heart  to 
your  own  husband." 

"  And  may  he  turn  Philip's  heart."  Ariadne 
winced  as  Kathleen  said  this,  but  the  Northern 
woman  simply  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  "  May 
God  help  me,"  she  murmured  in  echo  of  the  other's 
plea. 

"He  will,  He  will!" 

"  I  think  you  are  an  angel,"  said  Kathleen,  bow 
ing  her  head  on  her  younger  companion's  shoulder. 

Matters  were  on  a  practicable  footing  thereafter. 
By  tacit  consent  they  refrained  from  discussing  their 
feelings  toward  Philip.  Their  conversation  was  at 
first  confined  entirely  to  his  condition  and  the  steps 
to  be  taken  to  save  his  life  and  promote  his  recovery. 
They  met  only  at  the  table,  for  while  one  was  awake 
the  other  slept,  but  two  women  could  not  be  thrown 
together  the  way  these  two  women  were  without 
entering  into  conversation  upon  other  subjects,  es 
pecially  as  the  object  of  their  common  solicitude  grew 
better  although  still  not  yet  in  his  right  senses.  The 
doctor  gave  them  hope  that  he  would  soon  return  to 
consciousness  and  that  his  convalescence  would  be 
speedy  and  practically  certain. 

Gradually  there  developed  a  constant  interchange 
of  opinions  between  them  about  the  sole  question — 
after  Philip — that  was  uppermost  in  their  hearts, 
that  was  uppermost  in  all  hearts  in  those  days,  the 
war  between  the  sections.  Neither  made  the  slight 
est  effort  to  convert  the  other  to  her  way  of  belief, 
yet  the  discussion  did  much  to  ameliorate  prejudice 


148  THE    PATRIOTS 

and  soften  animosity  in  both  women.  Differences  of 
opinion  seemed  small  things  anyway  in  the  presence 
of  a  precious  life  hanging  in  the  balance.  Each 
woman  did  the  other  good. 

It  was  fortunate,  from  one  point  of  view,  that 
Grafton  continued  in  such  desperate  case,  for  the  ir 
reconcilable  differences  between  the  two,  growing  out 
of  their  common  devotion  to  the  one  man,  were  held 
in  abeyance  after  the  first  shock  had  passed  because 
of  their  intense  desire  for  his  recovery.  If  he  died, 
the  terrible  bereavement  would  make  all  their  sor 
rows  faint,  and  there  would  be  no  longer  cause  for 
strife  between  them ;  if  he  lived,  the  common  passion 
would  add  to  the  anguish  in  both  their  hearts,  and  in 
Grafton's,  too,  they  both  realised,  but  for  the  present 
they  thought  only  of  him.  The  future  must  take  care 
of  itself.  It  would  be  time  to  decide  when  the  mo 
ment  arose.  Each  woman  sought  only  to  live  in  the 
present,  in  her  hope  for  Grafton. 

Most  of  the  soldiers  wounded  in  the  war  received 
but  indifferent  care  and  suffered  from  lack  of  atten 
tion,  but  no  man  was  ever  watched  and  served  as 
Grafton.  The  shrewd  old  doctor,  pleased  at  the  un 
usual  situation,  with  the  North  and  South  both  urg 
ing  him  on,  devoted  his  best  efforts  to  the  case,  and 
finally  announced  to  them  that  in  all  probability 
Grafton  would  recover  his  consciousness  shortly,  and, 
if  no  complications  set  in,  in  a  brief  time  he  would  be 
on  the  road  to  convalescence.  Moved  by  a  common 
impulse  of  joy  and  thanksgiving,  the  two  women 
turned  and  clasped  hands,  forgetting  all  else  for  the 
moment  but  that. 

That  night  Ariadne,  who  was  not  on  watch,  spent 
the  hours  deciding  what  she  should  do  when  her  hus 
band  became  conscious  and  out  of  danger,  and  mak 
ing  some  preparations  required  by  the  decision  to 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  149 

which  she  came.  The  necesssity  for  acting  on  her 
conclusion  came  upon  her  sooner  than  she  had  antici 
pated.  The  two  women  were  at  breakfast  together 
in  the  long,  old-fashioned  dining-room  with  its  pleas 
ant  outlook  upon  the  broad  fields  of  the  farm,  the 
administration  of  which  Kathleen,  in  the  absence  of 
her  brother — the  two  being  without  father  or  mother 
— had  taken  upon  herself.  The  woman  who  relieved 
them  in  the  sick  chamber  while  they  took  their  meals 
together  came  suddenly  into  the  room. 

"  He's  awake,  ma'am,"  she  said  in  great  excite 
ment,  looking  toward  her  mistress.  "  He's  been 

.  leastways  he  opened  his  eyes  and  wanted  to 
know  where  he  was,  and  I  told  him  not  to  speak,  that 
I'd  fetch  somebody  that  would  explain." 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
What  would  happen  now?  It  was  Kathleen  who 
spoke  first.  To  her  the  woman  had  reported. 

"  Go  back  to  him,  and  say  to  him  that  he  is 
not  to  talk,"  she  said.  "  Tell  him  that  the  doctor 
will  be  here  presently  and  he  will  explain  every 
thing." 

"  And  did  .  .  did  he  say  anything  .  .  else?" 
asked  Ariadne. 

"  Nothing  that  I  could  make  out,"  answered  the 
woman.  "  He  seems  to  have  some  arithmetic  in  his 
brain.  It  was  something  about  addin'." 

"  Go !  "  cried  Kathleen  angrily.  "  Why  do  you 
leave  him  alone?  " 

The  two  left  behind  in  the  dining-room  well  under 
stood  that  Philip's  mind  was  not  bent  upon  arith 
metic.  Into  the  mind  of  the  wife  flashed  the  con 
sciousness  that  her  name  had  been  first  upon  his 
lips.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart  as  if  to  still 
its  throbbing.  Kathleen  leaned  forward,  her  arm 
outstretched  upon  the  table. 


150  THE   PATRIOTS 

11 1  suppose  now  you  will  go  to  him?  "  she  asked 
fiercely. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  speak?  You  are  his  wife, 
you  have  every  right;  I  am  nothing." 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  him,"  returned  Ariadne  quietly, 
but  her  lip  trembled.  "  I  shall  never  go  to  him 
again." 

"  What  do  you  mean?    You  are  his  wife." 

"  In  name  only.  I  .  .  I  shall  never  be  any 
thing  else." 

"  Do  you  contemplate  divorce?  " 

"I  do  not  believe  in  that;  but,  at  least,  I  shall 
never  trouble  him  again.  I  see  now  that  he  did  not 
love  me.  He  has  never  cared  for  me  as  .  .  as  a 
husband  should.  Oh,  yes,  he  was  always  good  and 
kind,  but  it  is  different.  I  shall  go  away  and  never 
trouble  him  again.  Perhaps  God  will  have  pity  upon 
us  and  make  him  free." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying!"  cried 
Kathleen.  "Will  you  leave  him  to  me?" 

Was  there  some  hidden  threat  in  that  question? 
Ariadne  could  not  tell,  but  she  did  the  magnanimous 
thing  nevertheless.  She  stared  hard  at  the  older 
woman,  and  Kathleen  could  scarce  sustain  her  gaze, 
although  she  was  as  fearless  as  a  woman  should  be. 

"  Mrs.  Manning,"  said  the  Southern  girl — and 
the  word  shook  Kathleen's  determination,  "  I  have 
known  you  a  very  short  time,  but  I  have  studied  you 
as  few  women  have  ever  been  studied  before.  I 
wished  to  know  why  Philip  loved  you  " — a  wan 
little  smile  that  seemed  more  like  a  sob  spread  across 
her  face — "  you  are  beautiful,  much  better  to  look 
at  than  I,  and  .  .  ." 

"  You  don't  know  how  good-looking  you  are  I  " 
cried  Kathleen  sharply.  Ariadne  shook  her  head. 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  151 

"  And  you  are  sweet  as  well.    Oh,  yes,  you  have  a 
temper,  you  are  as  impulsive  as  we  are  accredited 
with  being  down  South,  but  you,  au  fond,  are  gener 
ous,  loyal,  true.     Your  husband  trusted  you     . 
and  he  did  well.     I,  too,  leave  him  in  your  hands." 

Ariadne  was  without  design,  there  was  no  duplicity 
in  her  nature.  She  spoke  innocently  what  was  in  her 
sad  heart.  But  not  Macchiavelli  himself  could  have 
made  a  more  artful  suggestion  as  to  her  course.  She 
would  not,  could  not,  stay  and  fight  for  Philip's 
heart.  To  leave  it  to  Kathleen's  innate  nobility  was 
the  safest  way.  A  woman's  intuition  will  some 
times  insignificise  a  Solon. 

"  But  I  .  .  I  love  him,  I  tell  you !  "  answered 
Kathleen  boldly,  trying  to  force  the  fighting  tactics 
which  promised  best  results  for  her. 

"  You  can't  help  that  any  more  than  I  can,"  was 
the  unexpected  answer.  "  That  makes  no  difference. 
I  do  not  know  my  husband's  heart,  it  seems,  but  I 
know  his  honour." 

"  And  you  can  trust  his  honour,  I  suppose,  not 
mine?  " 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  I  trusted  yours?  " 

"  I  would  rather  you  would  fight  me  for  his  affec 
tion,"  said  Kathleen,  ingenuously  revealing  another 
phase  of  her  complex  character. 

"  Love  is  not  won  by  fighting,"  answered  Ariadne. 
"  I  know  Philip's  nature.  His  affections  will  never 
change.  If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you,  he  will  probably 
love  you  until  the  end  of  his  life,  but  that  is  all.  He 
will  hold  you,  his  friend's  wife,  as  sacred  as  he  has 
held  me,  his  own  wife." 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  exclaimed  Kathleen.  "  I  give  him 
to  you." 

"  Would  I  take  him  from  another  woman's 
hand? "  cried  Ariadne,  angered  on  the  instant. 


152  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  No !  It  is  all  over  between  us,"  she  went  on  more 
calmly  after  a  little  time.  "  I  shall  go  away  without 
a  word  to  him.  I  ask  you  to  give  me  your  word  of 
honour.  .  .  ." 

"  Will  you  accept  it?  " 

"  Certainly,  or  I  should  not  ask  it  .  .  that  you 
will  not  mention,  or  allow  anyone  else  to  mention 
my  presence  here?  When  my  hus  .  .  Mr.  Graf- 
ton  is  well  he  will  be  sent  to  some  Northern  prison; 
then  he  will  be  exchanged,  I  hope.  At  least  I  shall 
try  to  arrange  it." 

"  But  where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  South,  to  my  own  people." 

I' Where,  where!" 

"  I  can  tell  you  no  more." 

"  Mrs.  Grafton,"  said  Kathleen — and  it  was  the 
first  time  she  had  so  addressed  her — "  I  do  not  know 
what  to  say  to  you.  But  this  I  swear:  Philip  shall 
never  know  that  that  I  that  I  still 


care." 


"  Don't  promise  that,"  protested  Ariadne.  *  You 
could  not  be  in  his  presence  now  without  letting  him 
know,  and  I  need  no  oaths." 

"  You  don't  know  what  I  can  do,"  answered  Kath 
leen  resolutely.  Somehow  she  felt  in  this  moment  of 
parting  that  she  would  give  anything  for  the  affection 
and  regard  of  this  wronged  and  suffering  Southern 
woman. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  hall. 

"  It's  the  doctor,"  exclaimed  Ariadne,  glad  of  the 
interruption. 

Kathleen  ran  to  him  and  brought  him  into  the  din 
ing-room. 

"  He  is  awake,  he  is  conscious,"  she  cried. 

"  Good!  "  said  the  doctor;  "  I  expected  he  would 
be.  Now  I  think  we  may  call  him  out  of  danger. 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  153 

With  two  such  nurses  as  you  ladies,  we'll  soon  pull 
him  through." 

"  There  will  be  but  one,  since  I  am  leaving,"  said 
Ariadne. 

"  You  .  .  what  .  .  God  bless  my  soul ! " 
cried  the  doctor,  peering  at  her  through  his  glasses. 

"  I  am  going  South  now,  this  morning.  Mrs. 
Manning  will  look  after  Mr.  Grafton." 

"  But  .  ."  began  the  astonished  physician,  who 
knew,  of  course,  that  Ariadne  was  Philip's  wife. 
"  You're  his  wife,  ma'am  .  ." 

"  Doctor,  there  are  things  I  can't  tell  you,"  re 
turned  the  Southern  woman.  "Tarn  his  wife,  but 
it  is  better  that  I  should  not  see  him,  and  more,  I 
am  going  to  beg  you  to  promise  me  upon  your  word 
of  honour  that  you  will  not  tell  him  I  have  been 
here." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  puzzled  doctor. 

"  I  know,  and  it  is  ungracious  to  refuse  to  make 
any  explanation,  but  my  determination  is  irrevocable, 
sir." 

The  wise  physician  looked  at  the  straight,  daunt 
less  figure  of  the  Southern  girl  and  realised  that 
here  was  a  case  where  argument  would  be  useless. 
He  bowed  his  head. 

"  I  shall  respect  your  wishes,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  doctor,"  cried  Kathleen,  "  can't  you  make 
her  .  .  ." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  man,  "  here  is  the  spirit  of 
the  South.  It  might  be  persuaded,  it  will  not  be 
coerced." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  my  husband," 
continued  Ariadne.  "  I  wish  I  could  compensate 
you  .  .  no,  I  could  never  do  that,  but  at  least 
show  my  appreciation  of  your  kindness  and  services." 

"  Don't  mention  it,  madam,"  said  the  physician. 


154  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  I  am  too  old  to  fight  and  perhaps  'tis  best  for  me 
to  devote  my  energies  to  patching  up  the  scars  of 
warfare." 

"  You  will  ever  have  my  gratitude.  I  shall  never 
forget  you  in  my  prayers.  I  have  had  so  much  kind 
ness  in  the  North.  We  of  the  South  did  not  know  .  . 
we  did  not  understand." 

"  There  is  kindness  everywhere,  thank  God !  " 
said  the  old  doctor. 

"  And  I  wish  to  say,"  interrupted  Kathleen  im 
pulsively,  "  that  I  .  .  I  think  differently  of  the 
South  since  you  have  been  here." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  too,"  said 
Ariadne. 

"I've  done  nothing,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Doctor,"  continued  the  young  wife,  "  here  is  a 
little  trinket  I  wish  you  to  wear  to  remind  you  of  how 
I  appreciate  you  and  bless  you." 

Ariadne  detached  from  a  slender  chain  about  her 
neck  a  tiny  locket  and  pressed  it  into  the  physician's 
hand.  He  would  have  been  perhaps  unwilling  to  ac 
cept  it,  but  he  realised  that  the  rejection  would  give 
pain  to  the  woman  who  stood  before  him,  and  he 
could  see  that  she  was  suffering  enough.  So  he  took 
it  without  demur. 

"  And  now  good-bye,"  said  Ariadne,  putting  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  man,  coming  nearer  to 
her  and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head,  "  I  am  an 
old  man,  old  enough  to  be  your  father.  Can't  you 
confide  in  me?  " 

Kathleen  turned  swiftly  and  went  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  where  she  stood  and  stared  out  of  the 
window,  clenching  her  hands  and  biting  her  lip. 

"Can't  I  help  you?"  went  on  the  doctor 
persuasively, 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  155 

"  No  one,  no  one  can  help  me  but  God,"  answered 
Ariadne,  in  a  quivering  voice. 

"  May  He  give  you  His  protection,  my  child," 
said  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand  gently  on  her  head. 
He  kept  it  there  a  moment  with  his  face  uplifted  in 
prayer  and  then  he  turned  and  softly  left  the  room. 

Ariadne  stepped  to  the  outer  door.  Jeff  sat  on  the 
porch  basking  in  the  warmth  of  the  morning  sun. 

"Jeff!"  she  said. 

'  Yas,  Miss  'Adny?" 

"  I'm  going  away.  You  know  something  of  the 
state  of  affairs  here?"  The  boy  nodded.  "Your 
master  will  recover  now.  I'm  going  South  this  morn 
ing.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  know  that  I  have  been 
here." 

"  Does  I  go  'long  wid  yo',  Miss  'Adny?  " 

"  No,  you  remain  with  Mr.  Philip.  I  shall  move 
heaven  and  earth  to  have  him  exchanged,  so  that 
probably  you  will  both  be  South  so  soon  as  he  is  able 
to  travel." 

"'Is  you  gwine'  'lone?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Alone."  Not  until  that  moment  did  she  realise 
exactly  what  the  word  meant.  "  Alone  I  came,"  she 
said  steadily,  "  and  alone  I  shall  go  back." 

"  Is  you  gwme  to  leab  him  wid  dat  yuther  'oman?  " 

"  I  leave  him  to  his  honour,  and  hers,"  said 
Ariadne,  speaking  to  her  heart  and  not  to  the  humble 
black  man  who  stood  before  her.  "  Here  is  a  letter 
for  Mr.  Philip.  You  are  to  keep  it  and  not  give  it  to 
him  until  he  leaves  this  house.  You  are  not  to  tell 
him  that  I  have  been  here  until  then.  Will  you 
promise  me?  " 

'  'Deed  I  will,  Miss  'Adny." 

"  Can  I  depend  upon  you?  " 

"  Sartin  sho'  you  kin,  Miss.  I  cross  my  heart  an' 
bress.  I  swar  I  nebber  tell  him  a  word  'bout  you." 


156  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  I  believe  you,  Jeff.    Good-bye." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  him.  Jeff  took  it  in  both' 
his  great  paws  and,  touched  by  the  honour,  shook  it 
vehemently.  She  slipped  a  note  into  the  pocket  of 
his  tattered  jacket,  a  jacket  which  Ariadne's  needle 
had  made  somewhat  more  presentable  than  it  had 
been  when  first  he  met  her.  Jeff  was  as  proud  as  his 
young  mistress,  and  would  not  be  beholden  to  the 
North  if  he  could  avoid  it. 

Ariadne  then  went  back  into  the  dining-room.  The 
doctor  was  busy  with  his  patient  in  the  sick-room. 
Kathleen  still  stood  by  the  window.  Ariadne's  bag 
was  packed.  She  went  up  to  her  room,  put  on  her 
hat,  came  down  through  the  hall.  The  room  in  which 
her  husband  lay  was  opposite  the  dining-room.  No 
one  would  ever  know  the  yearning  that  was  in  her 
heart  to  enter  that  bed-chamber  and  take  Philip  in 
her  arms.  She  went  close  to  the  door  and  pressed 
her  head  against  it.  She  could  hear  his  feeble  voice. 
Terribly  weak,  yet  it  was  his  natural  voice  speaking, 
and  speaking  sanely  apparently.  She  was  too  far 
away,  he  spoke  too  low,  for  her  to  make  out  what 
he  said. 

Perhaps  if  she  could  have  distinguished  the 
words  she  might  have  hesitated,  but  as  it  was,  with 
a  prayer  to  God,  which  was  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days,  as  much  for  herself  as  for  him,  she  turned  away 
and  entered  the  dining-room.  Kathleen  was  still  star 
ing  out  of  the  window.  Ariadne  entered  softly  and 
stood  quietly  looking  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
There  was  no  hatred  in  her  look.  Poor  Kathleen, 
she  could  not  help  it.  Ariadne  could  forgive  any 
woman  for  loving  Philip.  That  was  not  the  painful 
part  of  the  situation.  She  went  over  to  her  and 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder.  Kathleen  turned 
around,  her  face  working,  her  eyes  blinded. 


'Good-bye,'   said  Kathleen  in  a  whisper;   'I  can't  hate 
you  ;  I  must  love  you  ' ' 


THE    DOUBLE    TRUST  157 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Ariadne ;  "  you  were  good  to 
me.  You  will  be  good  to  him  ?  " 

"  Stay!  "  cried  the  other,  stretching  out  her  hands. 
"  He  must,  he  will  care  .  .  for  you  I  " 

Ariadne  shook  her  head. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said. 

Kathleen  clasped  her  hand  convulsively,  and  then 
she  dropped  it  and  put  her  own  hands  over  her  face. 
Ariadne  turned  away,  crossed  the  room,  went  down 
the  long  hall,  stepped  upon  the  porch — that  porch 
with  the  purple  clematis  twining  around  its  white  pil 
lars,  that  porch  where  Philip  had  declared  his  love 
for  Kathleen,  and  received  his  answer.  When 
Ariadne  had  crossed  that  porch  and  descended  its 
steps  the  house  and  its  inmates  would  be  behind  her. 
That  was  her  Rubicon.  Only  before  her  lay  solitude, 
abandonment,  a  breaking  heart — and  hope  behind. 
There  was  something  in  the  fact  that  made  her  pause 
an  instant.  There  was  a  rush  of  hurried  feet  along 
the  hall,  a  woman's  form  burst  through  the  door. 
Ariadne  was  seized  in  strong  young  arms,  she  was 
swept  against  a  wildly-beating  heart,  lips  were  pressed 
to  her  own. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Kathleen  in  a  whisper;  "  I  can't 
hate  you;  I  must  love  you.  May  God  help  me  to 
do  what  is  right !  " 

As  quickly  as  she  had  come  she  was  gone.  Ariadne, 
who  had  stood  like  a  statue,  passive,  unresponsive, 
but  not  indifferent,  descended  the  steps,  passed  out 
through  the  gate  and  went  down  the  hill  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   WRONG  AMENDED 

GRAFTON  had  no  conception  as  to  where  he  was,  or 
how  he  got  there  when  he  opened  his  eyes  upon  that 
bright,  cheerful  bedroom.  His  first  sensation,  after 
his  faculties  became  controlled,  was  of  the  spotless 
neatness  of  his  surroundings.  This  was  an  unusual 
luxury.  For  months  he  had  endured  the  hardships 
of  camp,  with  its  lack  of  all  the  refinements  of  life, 
and  the  sweet  cleanness  of  everything  about  him  he 
realised  with  grateful  feeling  of  surprise. 

He  lay  quite  still  for  a  few  moments,  for  the 
woman  who  had  bent  over  him  and  whom  he  had 
asked  where  he  was  had  left  the  room.  He  could  do 
little  more  than  stare  about  him.  He  did  not  wish  to 
lift  his  head  for  the  present,  nor  could  he  have  done 
it  even  had  he  so  desired,  but  from  where  he  lay  he 
could  see  through  the  open  window  the  green  boughs 
outside  swaying  in  the  gentle  breeze.  Then  his  eye 
took  in  the  characteristics  of  the  room. 

Rooms  that  are  lived  in  partake  of  the  souls  of 
those  whose  lives  are  spent  within  their  confines. 
This  had  been  Kathleen's  chamber  before  her  mar 
riage.  When  he  had  visited  the  farm  before  the  war 
she  had  given  it  up  to  him  on  occasion.  He  was 
puzzled.  It  seemed  familiar  to  him.  Where  had  he 
seen  that  high  bureau?  Those  pictures  on  the  walls? 
There  were  signs  of  a  woman's  touch  all  about. 
Could  Arjadne,  whose  name  he  had  tried  to  speak 
before  he  recovered  consciousness,  have  been  there? 
If  so,  why  was  she  not  at  his  side?  Poor  little 

158 


A  WRONG   AMENDED  159 

Ariadne!  The  thought  of  one  woman  naturally 
brought  another  before  him.  Kathleen  Kirkwood — 
it  was  her  room!  His  heart  was  not  too  feeble  to 
throb  under  the  stimulus  of  that  recognition.  He 
knew  the  place  now.  How  had  he  come  there?  Yes, 
he  recalled  the  mad  charge  up  that  hill,  the  roar  of 
cannon,  the  rattling  of  small  arms,  the  fierce  struggle 
around  the  flags  on  the  crest.  Kirkwood  was  in  the 

Federal  army.  It  must  be  due  to  him The 

woman  returning  to  the  room  interrupted  the  reverie. 

'  You  are  to  keep  still  an'  don't  talk  until  the 
doctor  comes.  He'll  be  here  pretty  soon,  I  guess." 

"What  day  is  it?" 

"July  1 8th." 

"  And  I  have  been  sick  two  weeks,  then?  " 

'  Yes,  an'  we  didn't  expect  to  pull  you  through, 
either." 

"Whose  house  is  this?"  persisted  Philip.  He 
must  have  assurance  on  that  one  point. 

"  It's  the  Kirkwood  Farm,"  answered  the  woman; 
"  but  you're  not  to  talk  any  more." 

Grafton  didn't  care  to  talk  any  more  since  he  had 
received  that  confirmation.  He  was  right,  then;  it 
was  the  home  of  Kathleen.  The  fortune  of  war  had 
brought  him  into  her  presence  again.  Well,  the  earth 
was  a  small  place,  after  all.  Who  could  have  thought 
that  he  would  ever  see  her  after  she  drove  him  from 
her  on  that  summer  morning  two  years  ago  ?  He  had 
been  free  then — now  there  was  his  wife.  He  must 
be  true  to  Ariadne.  He  must  keep  tight  rein  upon 
himself.  He  would  be  loyal  to  his  wife.  Kathleen 
should  never  know.  Yet  in  spite  of  himself  his  heart 
exulted  in  the  thought  that  he  was  to  see  her  again. 
He  had  ample  food  for  thought  as  he  lay  there 
quietly  with  his  eyes  closed.  He  wondered  how  she 
looked,  how  she  was.  He  wondered  whether  she 


160  THE   PATRIOTS 

knew  He  was  married.  How  that  thought  kept  re 
curring  to  him. 

He  wondered,  too,  about  his  own  wife.  Did  she 
know?  Had  anyone  written  to  her?  Did  she  believe 
him  dead?  A  great  wave  of  pity  filled  his  heart  as 
he  thought  how  she  must  be  grieving  for  him.  Alone 
in  Virginia,  with  miles  of  bayonets,  which  neither 
he  nor  she  could  pass,  between  them.  Imminently  in 
the  presence  of  the  woman  he  loved,  yet  he  thought 
more  tenderly  and  affectionately  of  his  wife  than  ever 
before.  This  was  a  surprise  to  him.  He  could  not 
quite  understand  it;  he  did  not  know  whether  he 
was  glad  or  sorry  because  of  it,  but  his  thoughts 
wavered  between  the  two  women.  Presently  the 
doctor  came  in. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said  cheerily,  "  you  have  had  a 
long  siege  of  it,  young  man." 

"Yes?"  answered  Philip  inquiringly.  "What 
was  the  matter  with  me?  " 

"  Bullet  through  the  groin,  piece  of  shell  through 
the  right  arm,  another  bullet  through  the  right  shoul 
der,  and  a  bad  smash  on  the  head  that  looks  as  if  it 
might  have  come  from  a  sabre." 

;'Will  I  get  well?"  asked  the  patient. 

"  Well,  now,  I  consider  that  a  reflection  on  my 
professional  skill !  "  answered  the  physician,  smiling. 
"  Of  course  you  will  get  well.  With  a  constitution 
like  yours  you  could  have  carried  several  more  pieces 
of  lead  and  iron  without  succumbing.  But  when  you 
are  well  it  will  be  due  more  to  the  excellent  nursing 
of  these  women  than  to  me." 

"  I  know,"  said  Philip,  "  and  I  am  very  grateful. 
When  can  I  see  Miss  Kathleen?" 

Now  the  doctor  had,  of  course,  learned  that  Mrs. 
Manning  and  Grafton  had  been  old  acquaintances. 
Had  he  not  known  Kathleen  himself  from  a  child  and 


A  WRONG   AMENDED  161 

$ 

been  in  the  habit  of  calling  her  Kathleen  he  would 
have  felt  surprise  at  hearing  her  so  referred  to,  but 
he  never  noticed  Philip's  remark  and  answered 
promptly. 

"  You  shall  see  her  this  morning.  You  owe  her 
a  debt  of  gratitude,  young  man." 

"  I  can  guess  it,"  answered  Philip. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  you  are  not  to 
talk  much.  I  shall  lay  that  charge  upon  your  nurse. 
If  you  follow  my  directions  I  think  I  can  promise  you 
a  rapid  recovery." 

"  I  am  a  soldier,  doctor,  and  accustomed  to  obey," 
said  Philip. 

"Good!  I  shall  expect  you  to  do  so.  I  shall 
look  in  on  you  this  evening.  There  are  so  many 
wounded  here  that  we  haven't  long  to  stay  with  our 
patients.  Good-morning,"  said  the  doctor,  picking 
up  his  bag  and  turning  away. 

"One  moment,  sir,"  said  Philip.  "The  battle? 
Did  we  win?  " 

"  You  lost  it,"  returned  the  old  man  gravely.  "But 
you  made  the  finest  charge  in  history,  you  Virginians." 

"  Did  Lee  get  away?  " 

"  Safe  and  sound  with  all  his  army,  although  we 
tried  hard  enough  to  prevent  him,"  he  answered  as 
he  passed  out  of  the  door. 

There  was  another  question  Philip  had  intended 
to  ask,  but  that  could  wait  until  the  morrow.  The 
conversation  with  the  doctor  had  exhausted  him  not  a 
little.  He  lay  quiet  with  his  eyes  closed.  The  room 
was  very  still,  so  still  that  the  silence  at  last  became 
oppressive.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up. 
There  bending  over  him  was  the  girl  with  the  bright 
hair  and  the  blue  eyes,  of  whose  face  he  had  so  often 
dreamed. 

"  Kathleen,"  he  whispered,  "  is  it  you?" 


1 62  THE   PATRIOTS 

"  Yes,  Philip." 

He  was  too  weak  to  see  at  first  how  white  she 
was.  The  colour  was  gone  from  her  cheeks;  her 
lips  were  paler  than  they  were  wont  to  be. 

"  Did  you  bring  me  here?  " 

"  My  brother  and  .  .  Colonel  Manning  .  . 
picked  you  up  on  the  field  and  sent  you  to  me." 

"  What  a  trouble  I  must  have  been,"  he 
murmured. 

"Don't  say  that!  "  she  replied;  "I  was  glad  to 
help  you." 

"A  Southerner     .     .     an  enemy?" 

"  We  are  no  longer  enemies,  Philip." 

Oh,  how  her  soul  yearned  toward  him !  She  could 
have  knelt  down  and  taken  his  head  in  her  arms ;  her 
heart  would  fain  burst  out  in  passionate  tenderness 
over  him.  But  between  her  face  and  his  she  saw 
Ariadne,  slender,  straight,  dauntless,  and  beautiful 
in  her  pallor.  She  clenched  her  hands  and  swore  that 
she  would  be  true  to  her  husband,  true  to  Ariadne, 
true  to  herself;  but  it  was  so  hard,  so  very  hard.  She 
did  not  dream  that  it  would  be  like  this. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  said  Grafton  suddenly,  "  I  .  . 
I  am  married." 

Had  he  been  himself  he  might  have  told  her  more 
delicately ;  but  he  knew  it  must  be  done,  and  he  did  it 
in  the  shortest,  the  quickest  way. 

'  Yes,"  said  Kathleen,  as  if  the  matter  were  of 
little  or  no  importance.  She  divined  exactly  why  he 
told  her,  and  her  matter-of-fact  way  of  receiving  his 
news — for  she  gave  no  outward  sign  that  her  heart 
was  breaking — startled  him. 

"  It  was  not  that  I  had  forgotten  you,  Kathleen," 
he  began.  "  But  because  I  ..."  He  checked 
himself  just  in  time.  This  was  not  loyal  to  Ariadne. 
All  that  was  necessary  for  Kathleen  Kirkwood  to 


A   WRONG   AMENDED  163 

know  was  that  he  was  married.  "  They  tell  me  I  have 
been  here  two  weeks,"  he  continued. 

"  Yes,"  said  Kathleen.  "  And  we  thought  you 
might  be  here  .  .  forever." 

"  The  doctor  says  it  is  due  to  your  nursing  that  I 
owe  my  life.  I  am  grateful.  I  must  live  .  .  for 
Ariadne,"  he  muttered  faintly  enough;  but  she  heard 
the  name — "  for  Ariadne." 

The  woman  was  gone  out  of  Kathleen's  life,  from 
out  of  Philip's,  too.  Was  the  memory  of  her,  the 
sound  of  her  name,  to  be  ever  present? 

"  Did  you  send  her  any  word?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

Kathleen  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak;  mindful 
of  her  plighted  word  to  Ariadne  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Had  .  .  has  no  message  from  her  reached 
you?" 

"  None." 

"  But  of  course  she  could  not  know,"  he  faltered, 
and  there  was  a  great  feeling  of  disappointment  in 
his  tone.  "  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  though." 

Kathleen  felt  ashamed  to  take  to  herself  all  that 
praise,  some  of  which  belonged  to  Ariadne.  But  she 
could  say  nothing;  her  promise  fettered  her.  The 
interview  was  too  much  for  her  after  what  she  had 
gone  through.  She  let  her  hand  fall  on  Philip's  fore 
head  and  found  that  it  was  cool,  the  first  time  in  many 
days. 

"  The  doctor  told  me  that  you  were  not  to  talk," 
she  said  to  him. 

"Don't  leave  me,"  pleaded  Grafton;  "  I  will  be 
very  quiet  if  you  will  only  stay  here." 

Kathleen  nodded  her  head  and  sat  down  in  the 
chair  near  the  bed. 

"  Not  there,"  said  the  young  man.  "  Won't  you 
move  where  I  can  look  at  you  without  turning  my 
head?  You  know  how  I  used  to  like  to  look  at  you." 


164  THE   PATRIOTS 

Kathleen  moved  her  chair  as  he  wished  and  sat 
there  resolutely  looking  away  from  him.  She  was 
fighting  a  battle  as  fierce  as  any  waged  between  con 
tending  armies — a  battle  in  her  own  soul.  There  are 
passions  in  lonely  human  hearts  which  mock  those 
that  inhabit  the  field.  Kathleen's  heart  was  a  house 
divided  within  her.  Philip  had  the  larger  share,  but 
some  of  her  affection  went  back  to  the  camp  in  Vir 
ginia,  where  her  husband  lay  with  his  men,  and  some 
of  it  followed  the  slender  figure  of  Ariadne — the 
dauntless — as  she  resolutely  held  her  way  southward. 

Conflicting  passions  tore  Kathleen's  being.  There 
was  hope  for  her.  A  week  since  there  had  been  one 
object  in  her  heart,  the  man  by  her  side.  Now  it  was 
just  beginning  to  be — different.  She  sat  there  a  long 
time  fighting  her  battle  in  silence.  To  suffer  and  to 
give  no  sign — that  is  the  heroism  of  woman.  By  and 
by  the  struggle  for  self-control  became  insupportable ; 
she  rose  from  her  chair  to  leave  the  room.  She  could 
not  resist  one  glance  at  her  patient.  He  was  asleep. 
He  had  met  her  eyes  when  he  awakened;  upon  her 
his  eyes  had  lingered  until  he  slept.  Yet  he  dreamed 
of  Ariadne !  Kathleen,  kneeling  by  his  side,  pressed 
her  lips  to  the  pillow  on  which  his  head  lay.  She 
stood  over  him,  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  the  other 
outstretched  to  him  in  yearning,  or  benediction,  she 
could  not  say.  She  watched  him  a  moment  or  two 
and  then  turned  from  the  room. 

In  the  library  hung  a  picture  of  her  husband.  She 
knelt  down  before  it  and  prayed  as  she  had  never 
prayed  before,  for  strength  to  keep  the  faith  and  be 
a  woman  true.  Then  she  went  back  into  the  sick 
room  again  to  resume  her  watch.  She  was  stronger 
now — something  of  the  peace  she  asked  for  filled  her 
soul. 

Grafton  was  awake  when  she  entered,  and  she  con- 


A  WRONG   AMENDED  165 

fronted  him  with  more  mastery  of  herself.  She  did 
not  shrink  when  he  said  that  some  one  must  write  to 
his  wife.  Although  she  knew  that  no  letter  could 
reach  Ariadne  now,  and  that  there  was  no  need  of 
one,  she  humoured  him,  bringing  paper  and  pen  and 
writing  at  his  dictation. 

I  said  that  peace  had  begun  to  be  in  Kathleen's 
heart,  but  it  was  only  a  foreshadowing  after  all,  as 
if  in  an  o'ercast  sky  there  should  appear  on  the 
far  horizon  a  little  gleam  of  sunlight,  as  it  were,  a 
man's  hand.  To  sit  there  and  take  down  that  letter 
was  the  hardest  task  that  had  ever  fallen  to  her. 

"My  dear  wife,"  said  Philip  slowly;  "I  was 
wounded  in  Pickett's  charge  at  Gettysburg.  Kirk- 
wood  and  Manning  had  me  sent  here  and  Miss  Kath 
leen  Kirkwood  has  nursed  me  back  to  life."  Kathleen 
paused  when  she  heard  that  last  sentence  from  his 
feeble  lips.  She  must  tell  him  of  her  marriage;  he 
himself  had  set  the  example ;  yet  she  hesitated.  "  I 
was  unconscious  until  this  morning,  and  the  first  thing 
I  am  writing  to  you  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  get  well 
and  to  charge  you  not  to  worry,"  he  resumed.  "  I 
shall  seek  you  as  soon  as  I  am  exchanged.  Miss  Kirk- 
wood  is  writing  this  for  me.  May  God  keep  you." 
He  stopped. 

"  Don't  you  wish  to  say  any  more?"  asked  the 
woman. 

"  That's  all,"  returned  the  man.  "  Sign  it  '  your 
affectionate  husband.' ' 

"  Haven't  you  a  word  of  love?  "  burst  out  Kath 
leen,  "  to  send  to  that  poor  child?  Think  how 
frantic  she  must  .  .  ."  She  stopped. 

"Love,  Kathleen?"  said  Philip;  "God  help 
me  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  say  it !  "  she  interrupted,  her  voice  thrill 
ing  with  suppressed  emotion. 


1 66  THE    PATRIOTS 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  The  woman  who 
had  assisted  in  nursing  him  before  his  wife  came  now 
entered  the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Manning,"  she  began,  delivering  herself  of 
some  trivial  message.  The  colour  came  back  into 
Kathleen's  face  then.  She  gave  the  woman  her  an 
swer,  and  when  she  left  the  room  she  turned  to  face 
her  patient. 

Philip  was  looking  at  her  with  curious  intensity. 

"  What  did  she  call  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Manning,"  answered  Kathleen. 

"  Are  you  the  wife  of  George  Manning?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  When  did  you  marry  him?  " 

"  In  September,  1861." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Grafton  at  last,  "  do  you  love 
him?" 

He  forgot  that  he  had  checked  his  disavowal  of 
affection  for  Ariadne.  He  did  not  realise  that  his 
question  was  an  improper  one.  He  had  been  so  ill 
and  was  so  weak  that  he  was  not  master  of  himself. 
Had  he  been  in  possession  of  his  strength  and  his 
faculties  he  would  not  have  presumed  to  ask  such  a 
question.  As  it  was,  all  the  appeal  in  his  soul,  all  the 
passion  he  had  repressed  for  two  years  rose  to  his  lips 
and  shone  in  his  eyes.  It  took  heroic  courage  to  re 
sist  that  eloquent  if  voiceless  pleading.  Yet  Kathleen 
rose  to  the  full  measure  of  true  womanhood  at  that 
moment. 

'  Yes,"  she  answered  simply;  "  I  love  him." 

"  May  you  be  very  happy  together,"  said  Philip, 
turning  away. 

Ah,  yes,  Kathleen  had,  consciously  and  uncon 
sciously,  grievously  wronged  Ariadne,  but  in  that 
supreme  moment  she  made  a  great  atonement. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CHANGING  CURRENTS 

THE  desire  to  have  what  one  cannot  have  is  always 
keener  than  the  desire  to  enjoy  what  one  can.  With 
Philip  it  worked  two  ways.  Kathleen's  sharp  mono 
syllable  shattered  his  air  castle  irrevocably.  Al 
though  he  had  married  he  had  never  for  one  moment 
imagined  that  she  could  do  the  same.  His  marriage 
was  so  formal  an  affair,  anyway,  that  at  times  he 
almost  forgot  that  he  was  bound.  With  her  naturally 
it  was  different. 

The  first  pang  was  jealousy.  The  next  was  relief. 
Philip  was  not  a  hero  of  romance;  he  was  a  plain, 
everyday,  practical,  honourable  young  man.  He 
recognised,  of  course,  that  Kathleen  was  always  a 
temptation  to  him.  His  common  sense  told  him  that 
the  fact  that  she  had  married,  and  married  one  of 
his  dearest  friends,  was  an  added  safeguard;  and 
Philip  was  glad  for  that.  He  was  glad,  too,  that  he 
had  discovered  it  as  soon  as  he  had. 

The  weakness  attendant  upon  the  long  illness,  the 
slow  period  of  recovery  in  which  a  woman's  care 
means  so  much,  bring  about  more  love  affairs  than 
any  other  conditions,  comparatively  speaking.  The 
trained  nurse  is  not  booked  for  the  old  maid's  station, 
unless  she  chooses.  A  pretty  nurse — and  even  a 
homely  one — and  an  ill  bachelor,  or  a  widower,  very 
often  come  to  sustain  other  and  sweeter  relations  than 
those  they  originally  filled.  Many  a  woman  in  nurs 
ing  a  man  back  to  health  has  nursed  herself  into  his 
heart.  Such  marriages  are  usually  happy,  too,  for  a 

167 


1 68  THE    PATRIOTS 

man  who  is  worth  loving  when  he  is  sick  is  a  man 
indeed!  Now  that  Grafton  knew  that  Kathleen  was 
married,  and  happily,  that  she  loved  her  husband,  and 
that  her  husband  was  his  friend,  he  would  cut  out  his 
tongue  rather  than  have  allowed  himself  to  allude  to 
any  previous  engagement,  or  affection,  that  had  ob 
tained  between  them.  Grafton  had  two  objects  of 
endeavour  before  him :  first,  to  get  well ;  second,  not 
to  betray  his  feeling  for  Kathleen.  Kathleen  had 
two  objects  also;  they  were  similar  to  Grafton's — to 
get  him  well  and  not  to  discover  to  him  her  own 
heart. 

Singularly  enough  the  most  effectual  help  that 
either  of  them  got  in  their  brave  endeavour  was  the 
memory  of  Ariadne.  There  are  some  affections 
which  grow  even  with  distance  and  absence.  Some 
natures  idealise  in  separation  what  seems  simple 
enough  in  actual  touch.  Ariadne  had  been  very 
brave,  very  generous  and  very  honourable.  Often 
and  often  when  Kathleen  could  scarcely  command 
herself  the  brave  young  Southern  woman,  so  straight, 
so  dauntless,  would  seem  to  be  standing  by  her  side, 
giving  her  help.  She  could  feel  the  soft  touch  of 
restraint  upon  her  arm  which  she  welcomed.  She 
could  hear  the  soft  voice  say,  "  I  trust  him  and  I 
trust  you."  That  made  her  strong.  She  would  be 
worthy  the  confidence  that  had  been  reposed  in  her. 
She  would  be  true  to  George  Manning,  and  to  the 
Southern  woman,  and  to  the  innate  nobleness  of  her 
own  soul.  With  Ariadne's  help  she  conquered. 

Philip  in  the  presence  of  Kathleen  thought  often 
of  his  wife,  thought  of  her  with  a  genuine  feeling  of 
surprise.  He  had  not  dreamed  that  under  such  cir 
cumstances — Kathleen's  presence ! — his  mind  would 
have  recurred  so  frequently  to  the  woman  who  bore 
his  name.  If  he  had  been  asked  before  to  imagine 


THE    CHANGING    CURRENTS       169 

such  a  situation  he  would  have  said  that  the  earth 
could  hold  nothing  for  him  but  Kathleen.  Now  he 
found  himself  thinking  much  the  same  thing  of  his 
wife. 

The  one  thing  that  retarded  his  recovery  was  the 
fact  that  he  had  heard  nothing  from  her.  As  he 
grew  better  he  had  painfully  written  to  her,  not  once, 
but  several  times,  and  the  love  Kathleen  had  missed 
from  the  first  letter  he  dictated  to  her  was  in  these 
other  missives.  He  put  it  in,  himself,  as  he  fancied, 
from  duty  and  pity.  These  things  are  akin  to  love, 
they  say;  yet  Grafton  did  not  realise  at  that  time  their 
relationship.  Those  letters  had  been  forwarded  by 
secret  means  which  were  available.  They  contained 
nothing  whatever  that  was  harmful  to  the  North  or 
useful  to  the  South,  and  Kathleen  did  not  hesitate  to 
use  her  influence — which  was  considerable — with  cer 
tain  persons  in  authority  to  get  them  through  the 
lines.  No  answer  ever  came  back.  If  the  earth  had 
swallowed  Ariadne  she  could  not  have  been  more 
silent  and  unheard  from. 

Again  and  again  Kathleen  was  on  the  point  of  tell 
ing  Grafton  that  his  wife  had  been  there,  but  she  had 
pledged  her  word  to  the  Southern  woman,  and  she 
would  not  break  it.  The  mere  fact  that  those  love 
letters,  which  Grafton  had  received  so  carelessly  and 
had  read  with  pity  more  than  anything  else,  had 
stopped,  and  that  he  could  not  hear  from  her,  or 
about  her,  opened  his  eyes  to  the  hold  this  woman  had 
taken  upon  him. 

He  had  ample  time  to  analyse  his  emotions,  and  he 
discovered  presently  that  he  was  in  love  with  both 
women,  which  was  sure  evidence  that  he  was  not  very 
deeply  in  love  with  either  of  them.  In  other  words, 
his  love  for  Kathleen  had  already  begun  to  wane, 
while  his  love  for  Ariadne  had  only  commenced  to 


1 7o  THE    PATRIOTS 

grow.  The  waning  was  the  harder  process.  It  had 
at  first  required  every  effort  of  his  will  to  put  Kath 
leen  aside;  the  growth  of  his  feeling  for  his  wife  was 
a  natural  one,  and,  like  things  which  are  destined  for 
long  life  and  strength,  it  was  very  slow. 

Kathleen  constantly  helped  him  in  both  his  mental 
processes.  She  set  herself  resolutely  to  talk  about 
her  husband.  She  prattled  to  him  about  Manning  by 
the  hour.  She  read  his  letters  to  her;  in  short,  she 
behaved  as  the  fondest  wife  would  behave  to  an  old 
friend  of  hers  and  her  husband's.  And  she  forced 
him  to  talk  about  Ariadne.  She  made  him  describe 
her,  and  she  admitted  to  herself  that  his  description, 
based  on  the  eyes  of  friendship  and  ages  old  at 
that,  fell  so  far  short  of  the  original  that  she  won 
dered  what  would  happen  when  he  found  her  again. 
What  a  revelation  of  beauty  she  would  be  to  him 
then? 

The  iron  entered  into  her  soul,  but  she  did  all  that 
she  had  set  herself  to  do.  Her  passionate,  more  fiery, 
more  tempestuous  nature  was  deeper  than  the  man's. 
At  first  her  devotion  to  him  did  not  waver,  yet  never 
once  did  she  betray  herself  to  him.  As  she  persisted  in 
her  courageous  self-sacrifice  some  of  the  compensa 
tion  of  such  endeavour  came  to  her.  As  she  re-read 
her  husband's  letters,  those  letters  which  at  first,  like 
Ariadne's  to  Philip,  were  matters  of  little  moment  to 
the  recipient,  she  began  to  see  what  a  splendid,  manly 
man  he  was.  And  Grafton's  encouraging  praise  and 
approbation  opened  her  eyes  further. 

She  had  taken  Manning  in  a  moment  of  pique  and 
anger  and  had  never  valued  him  for  his  sterling  quali 
ties.  He  was  not  a  brilliant  man,  like  Graf  ton  and 
her  brother,  but  there  was  much  in  him  to  admire. 
She  saw  that  now,  and  Grafton  helped  her  to  see  it 
more  clearly.  He  had  lived  with  Manning  in  the 


THE    CHANGING   CURRENTS      171 

close  intimacy  of  college  life  for  six  years,  and  he 
knew  him  better  than  she.  By  and  by,  when  his  name 
was  mentioned  in  despatches  for  conspicuous  gallan 
try  in  an  action  which  he  had  fought  alone  with  his 
regiment  during  the  pursuit  of  Lee  from  Pennsyl 
vania,  Kathleen's  heart  filled  with  a  sudden  glow  of 
pride.  She  still  loved  Philip,  she  thought,  but  she 
was  no  longer  indifferent  to  Manning.  So  the  various 
currents  of  these  different  lives  swept  on. 

As  Graf  ton  got  better,  which  he  did  rapidly,  he 
wrote  to  Manning  a  frank,  manly,  grateful  letter,  the 
letter  of  an  old  friend  who  had  never  lost  his  love 
for  his  old  companion,  although  they  were  arrayed 
against  each  other  in  war,  and  one  in  which  he  sang 
the  praises  of  Kathleen.  How  kind  she  had  been  to 
him.  What  was  of  greater  importance,  he  told  Man 
ning  how  Kathleen  had  let  him  see  how  much  she 
cared  for  her  husband.  He  was  anxious  for  the  day 
when  he  could  see  his  old  college  mate,  when  peace 
should  be  declared,  and  there  would  be  no  obstacle  to 
the  renewal  of  their  ancient  friendship.  Then  he  told 
Manning  about  his  own  wife,  and,  enclosing  a  note, 
begged  him  to  read  it  and  forward  it  through  the 
lines,  if  by  any  possibility  it  could  be  arranged.  He 
wrote  a  similar  letter  to  Kirkwood,  too.  The  armies 
were  in  camps  facing  each  other  then  and  such  com 
munication  often  passed. 

It  was  a  letter  which  filled  Manning's  heart  with 
joy.  Too  honourable  to  voice  his  suspicions  further 
than  he  had  done,  he  had  fought  two  enemies  during 
that  campaign,  one  green-clad,  the  other  grey — jeal 
ousy  and  the  Confederates !  He  could  have  obtained 
a  brief  leave  of  absence  after  the  campaign  was  over, 
but  he  refrained.  He  had  trusted  Kathleen.  He 
would  continue  to  do  so.  His  consideration,  which 
she  was  quite  wise  enough  to  realise,  was  not  without 


1 72  THE   PATRIOTS 

its  value  to  Kathleen's  soul  as  well.  She  thought 
better  of  the  man  always. 

One  day  she  had  a  telegram  from  her  husband  beg 
ging  her  to  meet  him  in  Washington,  to  which  point 
he  was  ordered  with  some  captured  battle  flags,  to 
be  delivered  to  the  Secretary  of  War.  He  would 
have  a  few  hours  there.  Would  she  come? 

Kathleen  shrank  from  that  meeting  after  all  she 
had  gone  through,  but  because  she  shrank  she  de 
termined  to  go  to  him.  Contact  with  Ariadne,  the 
suffering  she  had  undergone,  the  trust  that  had  been 
reposed  in  her,  all  had  helped  her  nature.  Grafton 
was  practically  well.  She  could  hardly  hope  to  keep 
him  longer  at  the  farmhouse.  Already  officers  from 
the  provost  marshal  had  come  to  know  when  they 
could  take  charge  of  their  prisoner.  He  must  soon 
depart  to  share  the  fate  of  the  other  Confederate  cap 
tives.  There  was  no  excuse  for  her  non-compliance 
with  her  husband's  request.  She  would  go. 

She  bade  Grafton  good-bye  with  a  steady  hand  and 
a  quiet  voice.  She  told  him  where  she  was  going, 
when  she  could  come  back,  and  begged  him  to  con 
sider  the  place  his  own  until  she  had  returned.  Graf- 
ton  followed  her  out  on  the  porch  and  watched  her 
go  down  the  path.  No  one  had  watched  Ariadne  go 
alone;  the  Southern  woman  had  gone  with  a  breaking 
heart.  Her  Northern  sister  was  not  happy,  in  her 
departure,  but  her  state  was  not  to  be  compared  to 
that  of  the  wife  who  had  put  behind  her  everything 
and  had  gone  out  into  the  world  unaccompanied, 
nothing  whatever  before  her,  to  fight  her  battle 
alone. 

Grafton  sat  down  on  the  porch  and  thought  of 
Ariadne.  Her  silence  had  preyed  upon  him  until  he 
was  filled  with  anxiety  and  alarm.  To  him  came  the 
old  doctor,  who,  passing  by  and  seeing  him  on  the 


THE    CHANGING    CURRENTS      173 

porch,  with  genial  kindliness  drew  rein  and  descended 
from  the  buggy,  coming  up  to  speak  to  him.  He 
stumbled  on  the  first  step.  He  seized  the  railing  of 
the  porch  with  his  hands  as  he  fell  forward.  His 
watch  guard  caught  a  nail  which  had  been  used  to 
hold  a  clematis  vine.  The  force  of  the  wrench  tore 
from  the  guard  a  little  object  which  hurtled  through 
the  air  and,  as  chance  would  have  it,  landed  in  Philip's 
lap.  The  doctor  straightened  himself  and  stepped 
forward.  Grafton  had  the  trinket  that  had  been  de 
tached  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

;'  Where  did  you  get  this?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  gave  my  word  of  honour  not  to  say,"  returned 
the  doctor,  stretching  out  his  hand  for  it.  But  Graf- 
ton's  hand  closed  over  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor,  but  I  must  know." 

1  Must  know  what?" 

"  Where  that  locket  came  from.  It  is  .  .  it 
is  my  wife's.  I  gave  it  to  her  shortly  after  our  mar 
riage.  See  ?  " — he  turned  the  other  side  up.  "  Here 
are  her  initials.  How  came  it  into  your  possession?  " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Grafton,"  returned  the  doctor,  "  I 
scarcely  know  what  to  say  to  you.  I  came  honestly 
by  it."' 

'  That,  of  course." 

"  But  the  person  from  whom  I  received  it  exacted 
a  promise  from  me.  I  cannot  break  it." 

"  Was  my  wife  here  when  I  was  unconscious?  " 

The  doctor  said  nothing. 

"  She  is  a  tall,  slender  young  woman,  with  very 
dark  hair  and  eyes.  A  low,  sweet  voice;  she  is  rather 
pretty." 

"  Rather  pretty !  "  cried  the  doctor  in  a  voice  in 
which  surprise  struggled  with  disgust  at  Grafton's  ap 
parent  lack  of  appreciation.  "  Good  Lordl  " 

"  She  was  here,  then?  " 


i74  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,  nothing.  Ask  Mrs. 
Manning." 

"  She  has  gone  to  Washington  to  see  her  husband. 
Doctor,  if  you  could  give  me  some  word  from  that 
child,  I  am  sure  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Grafton,"  said  the 
doctor  stubbornly.  "  I  cannot  break  my  plighted 
word." 

"  I  know  that,  of  course.  A  gentleman's  promise 
is  sacred,"  answered  Philip;  "  but  can't  you  give  me 
some  indication,  or  .  .  ." 

"  You  have  had  all  the  indications  I  can  give," 
interrupted  the  doctor.  "  If  you  don't  mind  I'd  like 
to  have  my  locket  back." 

u  Certainly,"  assented  the  young  man,  handing  it 
to  the  doctor.  "  I  wish  I  could  add  something  to  it 
myself  to  express  my  appreciation  of  your  services." 

"  I  prize  it,"  continued  the  physician,  "  because  it 
reminds  me  of  .  .  ." 

"  Of  whom?  "  asked  the  young  man  as  the  doctor 
paused. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  returned  the  old  man  evasively. 
"  I  do  wish  I  could  tell  you.  I  would  give  anything 
to  do  so.  There  is  some  mystery  connected  with  it; 
what  it  is  I  cannot  say.  Even  if  I  could  I  have  given 
my  promise.  When  you  are  exchanged  you  will  per 
haps  find  it  out.  Some  day,"  he  continued,  "  I  should 
like  to  hear  the  end  of  the  romance." 

"  The  end  of  it?  "  cried  Philip.  "  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  They  say,"  said  the  doctor,  ignoring  the  ques 
tion,  "  they  say  exchanges  are  being  arranged  for, 
and  you  men  that  we  have  patched  up  will  be  going 
South  presently  to  get  ready  for  another  spell  of  our 
attention.  Perhaps  you  can  find  out  then." 

"I  mean  to,"  returned  Grafton.     "  Meanwhile,  I 


THE    CHANGING    CURRENTS       175 

wish  to  thank  you.  It's  all  I  can  do  now  for  what  you 
have  done  for  me.  I  assure  you  I  appreciate  it." 

"  You  needn't  thank  me,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  did 
mighty  little.  It  was  those  women." 

;' What  women?" 

'  Why,  Mrs.  Manning  and    .     .     and     .     .     ." 

'*  Doctor,  for  God's  sake  tell  me  1  " 

"  My  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  wish  I  could,  but 
I  can't.  I  must  be  going  now.  Good-bye.  If  you 
take  care  of  yourself  you  will  be  all  right  soon.  But 
don't  get  any  relapses  or  our  work  will  go  for 
nothing." 

He  turned  and  walked  down  the  path  and  Philip 
watched  him.  The  doctor  held  many  secrets  locked 
in  his  old  breast,  none  that  he  wished  so  much  to  tell 
as  that  one;  yet  he  held  his  peace.  He  did  not  know, 
any  more  than  a  few  surmises  enabled  him  to  guess, 
what  was  the  real  state  of  affairs,  but  he  was  sure 
there  was  a  tragic  story  behind  Ariadne's  pale  face 
and  desperate  manner.  When  he  looked  at  Grafton 
he  hoped  for  the  end. 

"  Poor  little  girl,"  he  murmured  as  he  glanced  at 
the  locket  in  his  great  palm,  "  that  young  fellow 
really  seemed  to  wish  to  know  desperately  what  had 
become  of  her.  He  seemed  to  love  his  wife.  And  if 
there  was  ever  love  exhibited  in  a  woman's  bearing  it 
was  in  hers  for  him.  But  if  he  loves  her  and  she 
loves  him,  why  go  away  and  why  swear  me  to  secrecy, 
I  wonder?  " 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  REVELATION 

THE  question  was  an  unsolvable  one  to  the  doctor, 
but  it  was  maddening  to  Philip.  Ariadne  must  have 
been  there,  then.  Why  had  she  left?  Where  had 
she  gone?  What  did  it  mean?  He  longed  for  the 
return  of  Kathleen,  not  for  the  pleasure  of  her  so 
ciety,  but  that  she  might  resolve  this  mystery  and 
tell  him  something  of  Ariadne.  The  woman  who  had 
assisted  the  two  who  loved  him  was  gone  away  on  a 
visit;  a  new  servant  was  in  the  house.  She  could  tell 
him  nothing.  Stop,  there  was  Jeff !  He  had  almost 
forgotten  Jeff.  He  had  been  there  all  the  time.  He 
must  know. 

As  soon  as  Philip  had  become  convalescent  the 
greater  part  of  his  care  had  devolved  upon  the  faith 
ful  body-servant,  and  Jeff  never  left  his  master  for 
very  long.  The  negro,  well-fed,  happy,  and  better 
dressed,  because  Grafton  had  directed  him  to  accept 
some  of  Manning's  cast-off  clothing  which  Kathleen 
had  before  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  him  to  wear,  at 
that  moment  came  ambling  around  the  corner.  Graf- 
ton  was  never  more  pleased  in  all  his  life  to  see  that 
black  face  and  figure. 

"Jeff,"  he  cried,  "come  here!" 
'  Yas,  suh,  Marse  Phil.     Huccum  you  ter  be  outer 
de  gal'ry  dis  arf'noon?     Can't  you  feel  de  col'  a'r 
blowin'  on  you?  " 

"  It  is  as  warm  and  balmy  a  breeze  as  I  ever  felt 
in  my  life.  I'm  all  right.  I  wish  to  ask  you  a 
question." 

176 


THE    REVELATION  177 

"Ax  me,  suh?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  wish  the  truth." 

"Doan  I  allus  tell  you  de  truf,  Marse  Phil?" 
reproachfully. 

"  Generally,  but  you're  not  like  Caesar's  wife,  you 
know." 

"  I  ain't  lek  nobody's  wife,  Marse  Phil.  I'se  a 
wot  you  may  call  hit  .  .  a  backslider  'bout  wim- 
min  fo'ks,  suh." 

"  Then  you're  less  above  suspicion  than  ever," 
smiled  Grafton.  "  Who  nursed  me  when  I  was 
unconscious?  " 

He  shot  the  question  straight  at  the  negro  like  a 
shot  from  a  gun. 

"  Wy     .     .     wy     .     .     ."  gasped  the  boy. 

"  Quick,  now !  "  said  his  master.  "  No  hesitation. 
Who  was  it?  " 

"Miss     .     .     Miss     .     .     ." 

"Miss  Ariadne?" 

"  Now  how  you  done  find  dat  out,  Marse  Phil?  " 

"  She  was  here,  then?"  exclaimed  the  young  man 
triumphantly. 

"Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord!"  groaned  Jeff,  "an'  I 
done  tole  her  dat  I'd  die  befo'  I  tole  you.  Twell 
be  time  to  gib  up  dat  letter." 

"  Jeff,  have  you  a  letter  for  me,  you  black  rascal? 
Do  you  mean  to  say  .  .  give  it  to  me  instantly !  " 

11  But  Marse  Phil     . 

"  Not  another  word!  "  rising  to  his  feet  and  stand 
ing  tremblingly.  "  Look  at  me,  Jeff.  You  know  I 
am  not  able  to  stand  here  long.  If  I  were  in  my  right 
strength  I'd  give  you  the  worst  hiding  you  ever  had 
for  not  telling  me !  " 

"/Deed, 'deed  Marse  Phil,  I  .  .  ."  began  Jeff, 
rolling  his  eyes  terrifically. 

"  And  if  you  don't  give  me  that  letter  at  once  I'll 


i78  THE   PATRIOTS 

die  right  here  in  my  tracks.  I'll  stand  until  my 
wounds  open  and  I  ..." 

"  Here  'tis,  Marse  Phil.  Fer  Gawd  sake,  suh, 
set  down  an'  tek  hit  easy  an'  I'll  tell  you  ev'ything." 

He  fished  out  of  his  pocket  a  note,  soiled  and  worn 
from  his  carriage  of  it.  He  had  not  dared  allow  it  to 
leave  his  possession. 

"  I'd  gib  hit  to  you  'long  'go,  Marse  Phil,  ef  I 
hadn't  swo'n  an'  cross  my  bress  dat  I  wouldn't  tell 
you  twell  you  was  gwine  to  be  tuk  away  fum  heah. 
I  done  promise  Miss  'Adny,  suh,  an'  as  I'se  a 
gent'mun's  nigger  I  couldn't  brek  my  word." 

He  rambled  on  incoherently,  but  Philip's  mind  was 
elsewhere.  He  held  the  note  in  his  open  hand.  It 
was  proof  positive.  Ariadne  had  been  there.  The 
questions  surged  through  his  heart  again.  When  had 
she  come?  How  long  had  she  stayed?  Where  had 
she  gone?  Why  had  she  not  waited  for  him.  Why 
had  Kathleen  concealed  her  presence  from  him?  He 
was  almost  angry  with  her  as  he  thought  these  things 
with  her  letter  unopened  in  his  palm.  He  had  been 
so  shocked  by  the  whole  affair  that  he  felt  he  must 
have  some  little  time  to  recover  himself  before  he 
read  the  note.  Some  premonition  of  its  contents  had 
come  to  him.  This  letter  would  explain  his  failure 
to  hear  from  her,  her  silence.  He  knew  now  that 
she  could,  if  she  had  chosen,  have  communicated  with 
him  in  some  way.  The  fact  that  she  had  been  there 
proved  her  capacities.  What  did  it  mean?  He  tore 
open  the  note  and  read  it.  And  this  is  what  it  said : 

"  PHIL — I  heard  that  you  were  left  on  that  hill  at 
Gettysburg.  I  managed  to  get  through  the  lines  to 
Washington.  The  President  of  the  United  States 
aided  me  to  get  here.  I  found  you.  I  found  more 
than  you.  I  have  learned  the  truth  at  last.  You  do 


THE    REVELATION  179 

not  love  me,  you  have  never  loved  me.  You  married 
me  to  please  my  grandfather  and  because  in  my  inno 
cence  and  my  ignorance  I  showed  you  how  much  I 
cared  for  you — may  God  help  me — how  much  I  still 
care !  I  know  that  you  have  always  loved  Kathleen 
Manning,  that  was  Kathleen  Kirkwood.  I  under 
stand  everything  that  was  before  a  mystery  to  me.  I 
have  no  blame  for  you  or  for  Mrs.  Manning.  She 
begged  me  to  stay  with  you,  but  I  could  not.  I  have 
waited  until  I  knew  that  you  would  get  better,  and 
now  I  must  go.  I  no  longer  believe  in  your  love;  you 
have  none  for  me,  but  I  still  trust  your  honour.  Kath 
leen  is  now  a  married  woman,  the  wife  of  your  friend. 
You  will  not  forget  it.  Nor  will  she.  I  am  sorry 
for  you  both,  for  I  understand  what  it  is  to  love 
without  hope.  May  God  have  mercy  on  us  all!  I 
am  your  wife,  and  until  death  severs  us  I  must  remain 
so,  but  when  I  leave  you  here  I  go  out  of  your  life 
forever.  When  you  get  back  to  Richmond  I  shall 
not  be  there.  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to  seek  me. 
You  will  remember  me  and  I — I  shall  never  forget 
you.  My  heart  goes  out  to  you.  Oh,  if  you 
could  only  have  loved  me  as  you  loved  this  other 
woman  how  happy  I  would  have  striven  to  make  you. 
I  have  watched  over  you  in  your  delirium  and  have 
heard  you  call  her  name  and  once  in  a  while  mine — 
*  Poor  little  Ariadne,  poor  little  Ariadne.'  I  cannot 
write  any  more,  Philip.  God  knows  I  love  you  still; 
I  always  have,  I  always  shall !  That's  all ;  but  good 
bye  and  may  God  bless  you.  For  the  last  time  I  sign 
myself,  "  YOUR  WIFE." 

So  that  explained  it !  And  yet  not  all  of  it.  There 
was  an  allusion  all  through  the  letter  to  the  fact  that 
Kathleen  reciprocated  the  passion  Ariadne  believed 
he  still  cherished  for  her.  Yet  Kathleen  had  told 


i8o  THE   PATRIOTS 

him  herself  that  she  was  married,  and  happily,  and 
he  was  bewildered.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as 
in  a  dream.  His  mind  wandered.  What  if  they  all 
had  been  playing  at  cross  purposes?  Did  Kathleen 
love  him?  Did  she  love  George  Manning?  Did  he, 
Philip,  love  Kathleen  ?  Did  he  love  Ariadne  ?  What 
was  the  end  of  this  mysterious  knot  of  human  fate  in 
which  the  threads  of  their  lives  had  been  so  en 
tangled  ? 

"  Jeff,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  know  something  of 
this.  Your  young  mistress  was  here  and  has  gone? 
Why?" 

"  Marse  Phil,  I'se  feared  to  tell  you,  suh." 

"  Speak.  Tell  me  just  what  you  think.  Anything 
will  be  a  help  now." 

"  Well,  suh,  I  was  in  yo'  room  w'en  Miss  'Adny 
cum.  I  mought  as  well  mek  a  clean  bress  of  hit,  suh. 
I  done  wrong."  The  faithful  negro  hesitated. 

'What  did  you  do?" 

"  I  done  tole  Miss  'Adny  how  much  you  keer  fer 
her,  suh." 

'  That  was  right." 

'  Yas,  suh,  but  I  done  tole  her  dat  you  look  at  her 
face  in  de  IIP  locket,  an'  I  tole  her  you  tek  hit  out  an' 
kiss  hit." 

'I  Jeff,  Jeff!"  exclaimed  Philip. 

'  Yas,  suh,  I  knowed  t'was  wrong  arter  de 
yuther  lady  show  Miss  'Adny  who  was  in  dat  lockit." 

"  Did  she  do  that?  "  groaned  Philip. 

'  Yas,  suh.  Miss  'Adny  done  see  de  lockit  on  yo' 
bres'  w'en  she  bend  ober  you,  but  she  ain't  look  in 
hit." 

"God  bless  her  faithful,  noble,  gentle  heart!" 
cried  Graf  ton. 

"  But  de  yuther  lady  she  done  open  hit  an'  poke  hit 
in  Miss  'Adny's  face,  suh.  Dar  dey  stood  an'  you 


THE   REVELATION  181 

a-dyin,'  suh.  One  was  red  wid  rage  an'  cryin'  an' 
Miss  'Adny  she  was  white  an'  stret  an'  still,  only  her 
eyes  was  a-blazin',  suh,  an'  den  she  drap  down  an' 
Miss  Mannin'  she  was  good  to  Miss  'Adny." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  young  man  sadly. 

"  An'  I  got  some  mo'  to  tell,  suh,"  said  Jeff. 

Philip  looked  up  again. 

"  Go  on." 

"  Dey  was  right  down  offish  wid  one  an'er  fer  a 
long  time,  but  dey  got  mo'  sociable  like  afo'  she  go 
away,  an'  dat  mornin'  Miss  'Adny  gib  me  dat  letter 
fo'  you  an'  tol  me  to  gib  hit  to  you  w'en  you  was 
a-leabin'  heah,  an'  de  yuther  lady  was  a-standin'  by  de 
winder  in  de  dinin'-room  yander,  an'  de  winder  was 
open  an'  I  heerd  dem.  Miss  'Adny  say  she  trus'  you 
an'  trus'  her,  an'  den  I  looked  in  fru  de  winder  an'  I 
see  Miss  'Adny  come  down  to  yo'  do.  You  was  a  mut- 
terin'  to  yo'sef  in  dar  an'  she  heerd  you.  She  des 
put  up  her  han's  on  her  bres'  an'  oh,  Gawd  a'mighty, 
Marse  Phil,  I  nuver  wants  to  see  sech  a  look  on 
nobody  agin  like  dat."  Jeff  stopped  and  a  great 
tear  rolled  down  his  black  cheek. 

"  Go  on,"  cried  Philip.    "  What  next?  " 

"  Den  she  went  in  de  dinin'-room,  an'  presen'ly 
she  cum  out  fru  de  hall  an'  fru  de  do'  an'  stop  on 
de  po'ch  an'  look  back  poisin'  on  her  feet  des  lak  a 
111'  bird  gittin'  ready  to  fly  away,  you  know." 

Philip  nodded ;  he  saw  it  all. 

"  Den  Miss  Mannin'  she  cum  a-runnin'  fru  de 
hall  an'  she  grab  Miss  'Adny  in  her  arms  an'  she  say 
suppin'  an'  kiss  an'  kiss  her,  an'  den  cum  back  an', 
an'  dat's  all,  suh." 

That  was  enough.  It  was  all  as  plain  as  day  to 
Philip  now.  His  heart  went  out  to  that  little  figure 
at  the  open  door  poised  on  reluctant  feet  like  a  bird 
on  the  edge  of  flight.  He  would  give  all  he  pos- 


1 82  THE    PATRIOTS 

sessed,  he  would  be  glad  to  go  back  again  on  that 
bed  of  pain  from  which  by  a  miracle  he  had  recov 
ered,  if  Ariadne  could  only  be  by  his  side.  She  had 
gone  out  of  his  life — forever?  Never!  He  would 
hunt  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  North  and 
South  until  he  found  her.  He  lifted  the  letter  and 
kissed  it  again  and  again. 

A  squad  of  soldiers  came  up  the  road.  They 
had  an  ambulance  with  them.  A  mounted  non-com 
missioned  officer  rode  in  front.  Halting  the  soldiers 
outside  he  rode  into  the  road  and  stopped  before  the 
porch. 

"  Is  you  name  Graftbn?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is." 

"  Sergeant  of  the  Ninth  Virginia  Infantry,  Rebel 
Army?" 

'  You  have  named  my  rank  and  regiment  in  the 
Confederate  service,"  said  Philip  gravely. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,"  returned  the  other.  "  We 
are  sending  a  batch  of  you  Johnnies  away  to-day,  and 
I  guess  you  are  well  enough  to  travel." 

"  I  am  glad  to  go,"  said  Grafton,  whose  hope  now 
was  in  an  early  exchange.  He  was  on  fire  to  go  South 
to  seek  for  his  wife. 

"  Kin  I  go  wid  him,  Marse  Officer?  "  asked  Jeff. 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  the  officer,  "  if  you  like." 

"  If  you  will  give  me  a  moment,"  said  Grafton, 
"  I  will  report  to  you  here." 

*  You  won't  try  to  get  away?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour." 

The  sergeant  of  the  squad  looked  at  the  pale-faced 
young  man  a  moment,  and,  realising  that  he  was  to  be 
depended  upon,  saluted — a  tribute  to  birth  and  breed 
ing,  not  to  rank — and  answered : 

'*  Very  well,  sir.     I  will  wait  here." 

Philip  went  back  to  the  room  which  had  been  his 


THE  REVELATION  183 

own  for  so  long.  He  drew  from  his  breast  the  fatal 
locket.  On  a  sheet  of  paper  he  wrote :  "  I  have  dis 
covered  all.  I  bless  and  thank  you  for  all  you  have 
done.  I  go  to  seek  her."  He  put  the  letter  and  locket 
in  an  envelope,  sealed  and  addressed  it  to  Mrs. 
George  Manning  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Then  he 
knelt  down  there  in  that  room  which  had  witnessed 
such  sublime  devotion  as  the  two  women  had  mani 
fested,  such  noble  sacrifice  as  both  had  exhibited — 
and  for  him — and  thanked  God  that  he  was  alive  and 
that  he  had  known  them  both.  He  prayed  that  one 
might  find  happiness  and  that  he  might  find  the  other. 
He  would  be  happiness  enough  for  that  other  now. 
For  his  eyes  were  opened  and  he  knew  that  he  loved 
Ariadne — only  and  forever,  Ariadne.  Then  he  went 
forth  and  delivered  himself  to  the  provost  marshal 
smilingly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

KATHLEEN     REAPS     WHERE     SHE     HAD     NOT   SOWN 

KATHLEEN  MANNING  met  her  husband  in  Washing 
ton  with  a  curious  mixture  of  feelings.  There  was 
first  of  all  relief  in  her  heart  that  she  could  meet  him 
with  such  complacency,  not  to  say  pleasure.  In  the 
journey  southward  she  had  finally  resolved  on  her 
course.  She  had  determined  to  tell  him  the  exact 
state  of  affairs  between  herself  and  Grafton,  and  let 
him  be  the  judge  of  what  should  be  done  in  the 
future.  She  realised  that  things  could  not  go  on  as 
they  had  without  some  explanation.  But  the  telling 
did  not  seem  quite  so  easy  and  simple  a  matter  when 
the  big,  bronzed,  full-bearded,  grey-eyed  soldier 
gathered  her  in  his  arms  with  a  great  bear-like  hug, 
causing  the  colour  to  flash  into  the  cheek  which  had 
paled  so  suddenly  at  the  sight  of  him. 

He  was  unfeignedly  rejoiced  to  see  her.  His  deep 
and  honest  love  was  so  obvious  that  even  the  travel 
lers  at  the  railroad  station — who  were  familiar  with 
such  meetings,  for  there  were  many  during  those 
times  and  nobody  minded  spectators  at  all — could  see 
how  this  brave  soldier  adored  his  handsome  wife. 
Kathleen  had  always  liked  Manning.  If  she  had  not 
reciprocated  his  feelings,  she  had  heretofore  endured 
his  caresses  without  any  especial  aversion  at  least,  but 
after  Grafton  had  been  brought  to  her  again  the 
thought  that  she  was  another  man's  wife  had  grown 
suddenly  horrible  to  her.  She  had  fought  against 
that  feeling  during  Grafton's  convalescence,  and  she 
was  pleased  now  to  find  that  she  had  mastered  it. 

184 


KATHLEEN    REAPS  185 

No  woman  could  fail  to  be  pleased  at  being  so 
welcomed,  and  to  her  surprise  she  found  herself  re 
turning  her  husband's  kisses.  Kathleen  was  impul 
sive,  wayward,  passionate,  and  high-tempered.  At 
the  bottom,  however,  she  was  profoundly  true  to  her 
womanhood.  The  course  of  self-discipline  which  she 
had  forced  upon  herself  during  the  past  month  had 
greatly  developed  her  character.  Altogether,  al 
though  she  had  not  dreamed  of  it,  her  heart  was 
turning  to  George  Manning — her  husband. 

There  was  another  cause  for  such  a  turning  which 
perhaps  accounted  for  some  of  the  vacillations  and 
tempestuous  outbreaks  of  her  erratic  nature.  A 
cause  which  she  had  discussed  with  no  one,  which 
she  had  hardly  admitted  to  herself.  But  before  any 
thing  else  she  must  tell  her  husband  that. 

In  the  room  of  the  hotel  when  Manning  would 
have  taken  her  on  his  knee  she  bade  him  wait.  She 
could  not  sit  down,  even  on  a  chair,  until  she  told  him 
all.  There  was  some  of  the  spirit  of  the  soldier  about 
this  Pennsylvania  woman,  and  as  the  interview  prom 
ised  to  be  a  momentous  one,  she  preferred  to  meet  it 
as  a  soldier  should,  on  her  feet.  First  of  all,  there 
was  that  preliminary  disclosure  to  be  made.  He 
should  be  the  first  one  in  all  the  world  to  hear  that; 
it  was  his  right. 

"  George,"  she  said,  a  bright  colour  succeeding  the 
paleness  which  anxieity,  self-struggle  and  care  had 
brought  into  her  usually  red  cheeks,  "  .  .  I  .  . 
there  is  something  I  wish  to  tell  you.  I  have  to  tell 
you  about  Philip  Grafton  and  myself." 

She  marked  with  a  quick  twinge  of  pity  Man 
ning's  face  grow  grave;  the  light  and  happiness 
that  her  arrival  had  brought  there  died  out  of  it 
in  a  measure.  He  said  nothing,  however,  and  she 
went  on. 


1 86  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  But  before  we  discuss  that  there  is  something  you 
must  know." 

There  are  things  a  woman  can  confess  like  a  sol 
dier;  there  are  others  that  she  must  confess  like  a 
woman.  Kathleen  forgot  the  last  requirement  when 
she  stood  so  boldly  facing  him.  She  stopped  now  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  An  idea  shot  through  her 
husband's  mind.  He  looked  at  her  keenly,  mean 
ingly.  A  smile  chased  away  some  of  the  gathering 
gloom.  He  stepped  toward  her  and  took  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Kate,"  he  cried,  "is  It  so?" 

His  wife  nodded.  She  dropped  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  and  clung  to  him,  glad  of  the  support  of  his 
strong  arms.  At  that  moment  she  loved  him.  The 
first  real  thrill  of  genuine  feeling  she  had  ever  ex 
perienced  for  him  shot  through  her  being.  They 
were  linked  together  by  the  most  effectual  tie  that  can 
bind  a  man  and  a  woman.  He  whispered  something 
in  her  ear.  She  nodded  again. 

"  My  heavens,  Kate !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  before?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  happiness  and  joy  now. 
He  turned  up  her  face  to  his  own  and  kissed  the 
woman  again  and  again.  "  My  dear  Kate,  my  sweet 
wife,  my  own  Kate,"  he  went  on,  over  and  over 
again. 

"Wait,  wait!  "  said  the  woman  at  last.  "  There 
is  something  else  I  must  tell  you." 

"  Nothing  else  matters,"  said  the  happy  man;  "  I 
don't  wish  to  hear  anything  else  after  such  news." 

"  But  you  must,  you  shall,"  said  his  wife.  She 
thrust  him  away  from  her. 

"  George,"  she  said,  "  did  you  know  that  I  once 
loved  Philip  Grafton?" 

Manning  thanked  God  for  that  qualifying  adverb. 


KATHLEEN    REAPS  187 

"  I  suspected  it,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  But  you 
don't  love  him  now,  do  you?  You  couldn't 
after  .  .  ."  His  eagerness  was  pathetic. 

"  I  .  .  I  don't  know,"  answered  Kathleen 
bravely,  although  it  was  terribly  hard  to  go  on.  She 
stopped  her  husband's  exclamation.  "  Wait.  Do  not 
judge  me,"  she  cried  quickly;  "you  see  how  . 
how  honest  I  am  to  you  or  I  wouldn't  be  here  telling 
you  this." 

"  Let  me  say  a  word,  Kate,"  interposed  'her  hus 
band  quietly.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  have  to  tell 
me,  I  want  to  say  right  here  that  I  suspected  some 
thing  of  this;  nevertheless  I  trusted  Grafton  to  your 
honour  and  you  to  his.  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  trusted 
you  or  him.  I  believed  in  both  of  you,  I  believe  in 
you  still.  Now,  go  on." 

It  was  a  brave  thing  splendily  done,  and  the  woman 
was  thrilled.  She  thanked  God  that  she  had  pursued 
her  self-appointed  course  of  action  during  the  time 
she  had  spent  with  Grafton.  Nothing  that  her  hus 
band  could  have  said  or  done  would  have  so  pleaded 
for  him  as  the  magnanimity  of  that  speech. 

"  You  did  well  to  trust  us  both,"  answered  Kath 
leen  proudly.  "  There  was  not  a  thing  that  he  said, 
or  I  said,  or  that  he  did,  or  I  did,  that  you  could  not 
have  witnessed.  But  I  am  not  here  to  speak  of  do 
ings,  but  of  my  heart." 

"  Go  on." 

He  was  a  soldier,  and  accustomed  to  desperate 
situations.  He  summoned  his  courage  and  waited  for 
what  was  to  come  with  all  the  fortitude  he  could 
muster. 

"  Philip  and  I  were  once  engaged.  We  became 
engaged  nearly  a  year  before  the  war  broke  out. 
After  he  graduated  he  visited  me  on  the  farm.  We 
quarreled  about  the  South.  I  wanted  him  to  stay  in 


1 88  THE    PATRIOTS 

the  North,  if  he  couldn't  fight  with  us,  not  to  fight 
against  us.  He  refused  and  I  drove  him  off." 

"  And  you  married  me  out  of  pique,  or  ...  ?  " 
queried  Manning  bitterly. 

"  I  always  liked  you,  I  respected  you,"  said  Kath 
leen,  rather  piteously,  being  thus  suddenly  put  on  the 
defensive. 

"  Thank  you.    Go  on." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  thought.  I  can  hardly  de 
scribe  the  situation,  but  a  few  days  after  Philip  was 
brought  to  me  his  wife  came.  You  recall  that  he  told 
you  about  her  in  a  letter?  " 

"Was  she  there?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  didn't  he  mention  it?  " 

"  He  didn't  know." 

;'  Why  didn't  you?" 

"  I  promised  not  to." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

Kathleen  found  the  explanation  every  moment 
growing  more  difficult  than  she  had  dreamed  of.  Yet 
she  had  to  go  on. 

"  You  see,"  she  faltered,  "  there  was  a  locket  I 
had  given  him  .  .  before.  He  still  wore  it.  My 
picture  was  in  it." 

"  But  he  is  married." 

"  It  was  merely  a  marriage  of  convenience,  it 
seems,  to  please  his  guardian.  He  married  a  little 
girl  of  sixteen — she  was  his  wife  only  in  name.  He 
never  loved  her." 

Poor  Manning  stared  in  anguish. 

"  But  he  will,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  his  wife 
quickly,  her  heart  full  for  the  man  who  loved  her  so. 

"  I  am  not  so  much  interested  in  him  as  in  you," 
returned  her  husband. 

"  Well,   then,    Mrs.    Grafton   came    there.      She 


KATHLEEN    REAPS  189 

found  that  I  .  .  that  we  .  .  that  Philip  didn't 
love  her.  She  surmised  that  he  had  loved  me.  She 
saw  that  locket  .  .  my  picture  .  .  she  nursed 
him  with  me  until  his  consciousness  returned  .  . 
then  she  left  him  with  me.  She  exacted  a  promise 
from  me  not  to  tell  him  she  had  been  there.  She  said 
she  would  go  out  of  his  life,  that  he  would  never  see 
her  again.  She  trusted  him  to  me,  George;  she  knew 
that  I  .  .  I  had  cared,  but  still  she  trusted  me,  as 
you  did,  and  Grafton's  honour." 

"And  how  did  you  fulfil  that  double  trust?" 
asked  her  husband  sternly. 

"  Without  failing,"  said  Kathleen  proudly.  "  I  told 
Philip  that  I  was  married  to  you  and  .  .  that  I 
loved  .  .  you." 

'  That  was  a  noble  untruth." 

"  It  wasn't  true  then,  but  I  .  .  I  thought  of  your 
honour  .  .  of  the  child  that  is  coming  to  us  .  . 
and  I  pretended  .  .  ." 

'Was  it  hard?" 

'  Very  hard  at  first.  Impossible,  but  it  grew  easier, 
and  to-day  I  am  almost  glad." 

"Kathleen!" 

"  I  had  to  tell  you,  George.  I  hope  that  life  has 
much  in  store  for  you  .  .  for  us  .  .  and  I  knew 
there  must  be  truth  at  the  beginning.  What  shall  be 
done?" 

"  Kathleen,"  said  Manning,  "  I  suppose  no  man 
could  hear  his  wife  confess  to  him  her  affection  for 
another  man  without  his  heart  breaking,  but  I  sup 
pose  you  could  no  more  help  loving  him  than  I  can 
help  loving  you.  If  there  was  anything  to  forgive, 
I'd  forgive  it.  If  there  was  anything  to  say,  I'd  say 
it.  There  isn't  anything  I  can  do  but  keep  on  loving 
and  honouring  you.  I  can't  help  that.  But  I  .  .  I 
won't  trouble  you  again.  You  will  let  me  know  when 


1 90  THE   PATRIOTS 

.  .  the  little  one  .  .  comes  .  .  and  some  day 
when  you  have  forgotten  the  other  and  perhaps  grow 
to  care  for  me  a  little  bit  .  .  ."  He  paused,  chok 
ing  back  his  feeling,  and  went  on  more  composedly. 
"  You  know  there  is  always  a  chance  in  a  war  like  this 
that  you  may  get  your  freedom." 

"  George,"  cried  his  wife,  "  don't  say  that!  I  do 
not  wish  any  .  .  freedom  .  .  that  way." 

She  came  closer  to  him  and  put  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  turned  her  face  up  toward  him.  But 
Manning  turned  away  his  head  and  kept  her  from 
him. 

u  I  do  not  wish  pity,  Kathleen.  I  must  have  every 
thing  or  nothing.  Friendship  will  never  satisfy  me." 

"  Do  not  repulse  me  now,"  cried  Kathleen. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  I  .  .  I  .  .  I  don't  believe 
that  is  a  story  now!" 

"  Kathleen,  you  don't  mean  it?  " 

"  I  do.  You  know  from  what  I  have  said  to-day 
that  I  won't  lie  to  you  or  deceive  you.  You're  worth 
a  thousand  like  Philip  Grafton.  I  was  a  blind  fool. 
If  you  can  ever  forgive  enough  .  .  ." 

"  Kathleen,  Kathleen !  "  cried  the  man,  "  is  it  true? 
It  can't  be!  Why,  you  came  here  with  your  heart 
full  of  another!  " 

"  I  didn't,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  didn't  give  a 
thought  to  any  one  but  you.  I  haven't  for  days. 
Will  you  take  me  back  into  your  heart?  " 

'  You  have  never  been  out  of  it.  You  never  shall 
be  out  of  it,"  he  cried,  lifting  her  up  in  her  arms,  and 
although  she  was  not  a  small  woman,  she  seemed  little 
in  his  mighty  grasp.  "  Now,"  he  laughed,  as  her 
arms  clung  about  his  neck,  her  head  nestled  on  his 
shoulder,  "  I  hold  all  my  family  in  my  arms.  This 
has  been  a  second  wedding  day  for  me.  I  was  never 
so  happy  in  all  my  life.  I  have  won  you,  and  have 


KATHLEEN    REAPS  191 

won  you  from  such  a  splendid  fellow  as  Philip 
Grafton." 

"  You  goose !  "  said  Kathleen  gaily  yet  tenderly, 
her  natural  buoyancy  returning  to  her  in  the  relief 
that  had  come  to  her  in  the  knowledge  that  her  love 
had  at  last  gone  where  it  should  have  gone  long  ago, 
"  there  isn't  a  man  in  the  whole  South  that  can  hold 
a  candle  to  you !  " 

And  whether  true  or  not,  that  was  very  important 
for  Manning. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE    BOOK    OF    THE    HEART 

PHILIP  GRAFTON  had  anticipated  a  speedy  release. 
He  had  gone  with  the  provost  guard  that  day  at  the 
farm  with  the  confident  hope  of  being  soon  in  the 
South  again;  but  Grafton,  although  he  was  a  very 
important  personage  to  certain  individuals  in  this 
story,  was  but  a  small  piece  on  the  great  chessboard. 
Merely  a  sergeant  in  the  Virginia  line — he  was  passed 
over  again  and  again  until  he  grew  sick  with  hope 
deferred. 

A  consuming  anxiety  filled  his  mind  to  learn  some 
thing  of  Ariadne.  Blessings — it  is  a  trite  phrase — 
brighten  as  they  take  their  flight.  Grafton  discov 
ered  it  to  be  painfully  true.  He  found  himself  long 
ing  for  his  wife  as  he  had  never  in  all  his  life  longed 
for  anything  before. 

When  Ariadne  had  been  pouring  out  her  wealth  of 
affection  upon  him  he  had — no,  he  had  not  disdained 
it — but  he  had  been  indifferent  to  it !  Now  that  her 
love  was  withheld,  now  that  she  had  ceased  to  be  de 
pendent  upon  him,  now  that  she  had  gone  away,  there 
was  nothing  he  so  longed  for  as  a  sight  of  her  face, 
a  touch  of  her  hand, 'a  kiss  from  her  lips.  It  was 
appalling  to  think  of  her  away  from  him,  suffering 
from  a  broken  heart,  a  mere  child,  alone  perhaps 
among  strangers. 

No  woman  who  loves  a  man  ever  goes  away  from 
him  without  hope  of  pursuit,  thought  Grafton.  He 
was  sure  that  she  loved  him  still.  She  could  not 
change  in  that  particular.  She  must  be  awaiting  him, 

192 


THE  BOOK  OF  THE  HEART   193 

then.  What  must  she  think  of  him,  therefore?  Did 
she  believe  that  he  had  tamely  accepted  her  decision? 
Could  she  think  for  a  moment  that  he  would  allow 
her,  his  lawful  wife — how  he  thrilled  at  the  thought 
of  that — to  separate  herself  from  him,  to  go  away 
and  leave  him,  to  live  her  life  alone?  Yet  what  else 
could  she  think?  His  impatience  was  maddening. 

Leave  her,  never!  Not  when  he  had  a  mind  to 
think  and  plan  and  a  body  to  execute  should  that 
be.  He  would  have  Ariadne.  He  would  tell  her  that 
Kathleen  Kirkwood  cared  nothing  for  him,  that  she 
had  confessed  to  him  that  she  loved  her  husband — 
which  was  as  it  should  be — and  that  he,  Philip  Graf- 
ton,  was  glad  of  it.  He  would  declare  to  her  that 
while  he  should  ever  hold  the  Northern  woman  in 
gracious  and  tender  memory,  he  would  make  it  his 
life-task  to  bring  happiness  to  Ariadne.  If  he  didn't 
love  her,  he  said,  he  would  devote  himself  to  her  and 
persuade  her  that  he  did,  and  that  would  be  easy.  He 
tried  to  persuade  himself,  too,  that  all  his  thoughts 
and  anxiety  were  for  his  wife,  and  not  for  himself; 
that  he  wanted  to  find  her  for  her  sake  and  not  for 
his  own.  Oh,  fool  and  blind ! 

Many  a  man  stands  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  morn 
ing  sun  and  yet  fancies  himself  In  darkness;  many  a 
soul  is  awake  while  it  yet  dreams  itself  immersed 
in  slumber.  Philip,  more  from  habit  than  anything 
else,  clung  to  that  idle  fancy  that  Kathleen  was  still 
in  his  heart.  Really  he  was  already  overwhelmingly 
in  love  with  Ariadne,  his  wife — and  did  not  know  it. 
All  he  needed  was  to  sustain  a  shock  to  clarify  his 
thoughts,  a  re-agent  to  precipitate  his  affections.  One 
sight  of  his  wife  would  do  that. 

He  did  not  sentimentalise  much,  either.  As  the 
days  of  his  captivity  grew  longer  he  grew  more  and 
more  anxious  and  more  and  more  resolute.  But  it 


i94  THE   PATRIOTS 

was  not  until  five  weary  months  had  dragged  away 
on  leaden  feet,  each  with  an  added  quota  of  trouble 
and  suspense  to  Grafton,  that  the  welcome  exchange 
was  effected.  It  was  in  January  when  he  landed  in 
Richmond  again.  Reporting  his  arrival,  as  he  was 
in  duty  bound  to  do,  to  the  Commissioner  of  Ex 
changes,  he  at  once  sought  and  obtained  immediate 
leave  to  visit  his  home. 

He  was  not  strong.  Prison  life  and  prison  fare 
were  not  conducive  to  health  at  best,  and  when  a  man 
had  previously  suffered  from  terrible  wounds  and  was 
a  prey  to  the  most  consuming  mental  anxiety,  he  did 
not  recuperate  under  such  conditions.  Grafton  there 
fore  was  in  a  wretched  physical  condition.  His  walk 
home  was  a  long  one  and  thoroughly  tired  him,  but 
the  last  two  blocks  he  passed  on  a  run.  At  last  he 
turned  the  corner  and  saw  the  house  among  the  trees. 
There,  where  the  magnolias,  bloomless  now,  arched 
over  the  gate  at  which  she  stood  when  the  regiment 
had  marched  off  to  war,  he  had  hoped  that  she  might 
be  standing  at  that  moment;  as  if  some  telepathic 
word  of  the  heart  could  have  informed  her  that  he 
was  coming  to  her,  and  she  would  come  to  meet  him. 

There  was  a  sudden  awakening  from  any  such 
idle  dream  when  he  stepped  on  the  porch  and  saw 
that  the  house  was  tightly  closed.  He  walked  rapidly 
around  it,  observing  that  every  blind  was  drawn, 
every  window  shuttered  and  every  door  locked.  After 
trying  all  the  doors,  in  his  disappointment  he  beat 
upon  them  with  his  fists.  The  noise  of  his  blows  came 
back  in  empty  echoes.  His  wife  was  not  there;  no 
one  was  there.  His  kinswoman,  Mrs.  Galloway,  who 
kept  the  house  for  him,  must  have  gone,  too.  There 
was  not  even  a  servant  about  the  place.  Then  he  be 
gan  to  realise  what  he  had  before  refused  to  acknowl 
edge,  that  Ariadne  had  already  carried  out  her 


THE   BOOK   OF   THE    HEART      195 

resolution,  and  that  a  long  search  was  before  him 
before  he  could  appear  in  that  magnanimous  part  in 
which  he  fancied  himself,  when  he  had  thought  upon 
the  matter,  in  prison. 

Just  how  to  begin  that  search  he  did  not  know. 
Where  she  could  have  gone  he  could  not  imagine. 
Vallewis  and  Braeside  both  occurred  to  him,  but 
both  had  been  destroyed  during  McClellan's  cam 
paign,  and  Vallewis  did  not  belong  to  Ariadne.  He 
was  sure  she  had  no  other  property.  He  sat  down 
on  the  porch  in  great  weariness  of  body  and  faintness 
of  heart.  This  was  such  a  disappointing  home-com 
ing.  On  the  few  times  when  he  had  visited  his  wife 
she  had  always  received  him  with  such  a  glad  light 
in  her  eyes  that  he  seemed  to  be  sitting  in  thick  dark 
ness  now  that  she  was  away.  Where  had  Mrs.  Gal 
loway  gone?  It  was  incredible  that  Ariadne  could 
have  taken  her  on  some  wild  flight  through  the 
South?  Grafton  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Help 
came  to  him  presently,  however. 

The  women  of  a  neighbouring  house  had  seen  a 
ragged  soldier  cross  the  lawn — common  sight  enough. 
When  they  had  looked  again  they  noticed  that  he  was 
sitting  on  the  porch,  his  head  in  his  hands,  in  deep 
dejection.  They  realised  then  that  this  was  no  ordi 
nary  visitor  or  messenger,  and  one  of  them  left  the 
house  and  crossed  the  lawn  toward  him  to  find  out 
what  was  the  matter  and  to  see  if  anything  could  be 
done  for  him.  A  returned  Confederate  soldier  in 
trouble  was  always  an  object  of  attention  to  the  peo 
ple  of  Richmond  in  those  days.  A  woman's  voice 
broke  the  silence  of  his  wretched  reverie. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?  I  noticed 
you  sitting  here  and  .  .  ." 

"  Madam,"  said  Grafton,  rising,  "  can  you  tell  me 
anything  about  the  people  of  this  house?  " 


196  THE   PATRIOTS 

"Haven't  you  heard?"  asked  the  woman,  who 
was  very  young  and  very  pretty. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing.  I  was  wounded  at  Gettys 
burg  and  have  been  a  prisoner  in  the  North  until 
to-day.  My  name  is  Grafton." 

"  Mr.  Grafton,"  said  the  woman,  smiling,  "  I  am 
Mrs.  George  Pickett,  the  wife  of  your  commander." 

"  I  am  honoured  in  meeting  you  as  he  is  honoured 
in  the  relationship,"  answered  Grafton,  amazed  at  the 
youth  of  his  beloved  general's  wife. 

"  Nay,  I  am  honoured,"  said  the  young  woman, 
who  was  scarcely  more  than  a  girl  herself,  "  and  I 
am  always  glad  to  meet  one  of  my  husband's  brave 


men." 


She  stretched  out  her  hand  and  Grafton  took  it, 
bending  low  over  it. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  .  .  forgive  my  importu 
nity,  but  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  my  wife  since 
that  battle.  She  lived  here  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  met  her,"  said  Mrs.  Pickett  gravely,  "  and 
Mrs.  Galloway  also.  Mrs.  Galloway  is  dead.  She 
died  of  fever  contracted  in  the  hospitals  some  four 
months  ago." 

"And  .  .  my  wife?"  questioned  Grafton, 
fearful  that  he  should  hear  like  tidings  of  her.  At 
another  time  he  would  have  given  more  thought  to 
the  death  of  his  kinswoman  and  friend,  but  now  he 
could  think  only  of  Ariadne. 

'^Was  very  well  when  I  saw  her  last,"  quickly 
replied  Mrs.  Pickett,  noticing  the  agony  in  the  man's 
face.  "  The  Dyletts  .  .  with  whom  I  am  stay 
ing  .  .  have  the  key  of  the  house  in  their  pos 
session.  Mrs.  Grafton  gave  it  to  them  when  she  left. 
They  told  me  she  had  arrived  from  the  North,  where 
she  had  been  endeavouring  to  find  her  husband  . 
didn't  you  see  her?" — Grafton  shook  his  head — 


THE  BOOK  OF  THE  HEART   197 

"  just  before  Mrs.  Galloway's  death.  She  and  her 
two  servants  left  immediately  after  the  funeral." 

;'  Where  did  they  go?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Oakley  can  tell  you 
more.  You  know  Mamie  Dylett  married  John 
Oakley  .  .  ." 

"  He  fell  at  my  side  at  Gettysburg,"  said  Grafton; 
"  I  believe  I  must  have  been  in  command  of  the  regi 
ment  when  we  crossed  the  stone  wall,  though  only  a 
sergeant." 

"  Come  over  and  tell  Mrs.  Oakley  about  her  hus 
band  and  she  will  give  you  the  key.  If  she  cannot 
tell  you,  perhaps  you  can  find  something  to  indicate 
where  your  wife  has  gone  in  the  house." 

Grafton  was  burning  to  go  into  the  house  at  once, 
but  there  was  a  duty  he  could  not  shirk.  He  fol 
lowed  Mrs.  Pickett  across  the  yard  and  told  the 
meagre  tale  to  the  young  woman  who  mourned  the 
loss  of  her  gallant  husband.  Mrs.  Oakley  could  add 
nothing  to  Mrs.  Pickett's  account.  She  gave  him  the 
key  to  the  house,  which  his  wife  had  directed  was  to 
be  given  to  no  one  but  him,  and  bade  him  godspeed 
in  his  quest. 

There  is  something  depressing  in  a  lonely  house  at 
any  time.  It  is  more  depressing  when  the  loneliness 
is  unexpected.  Grafton  had  hard  work  to  keep  him 
self  from  breaking  down  as  he  entered.  Everything 
was  just  as  it  had  been  left,  in  beautiful  order,  al 
though  covered  with  that  impalpable  dust  which  not 
even  the  tightest  closure  can  keep  out.  After  one 
glance  along  the  hall  Grafton  hurriedly  ran  upstairs 
and  opened  the  door  of  his  wife's  apartments. 

They  were  stripped  bare.  The  book  shelves  were 
empty,  the  pictures  were  gone;  even  the  piano  had 
been  taken  away;  there  was  nothing  left.  He  crossed 
the  room,  his  footfall  on  the  uncarpeted  floor  making 


i98  THE   PATRIOTS 

a  painful  echo  in  his  heart,  to  her  bed-chamber,  that 
virginal  white  chamber  that  had  made  so  sweet  a  nest 
for  his  child-wife.  It  was  empty,  like  the  other  room. 
No,  there  was  a  little  table  near  the  shuttered  win 
dow.  On  it  lay  a  small  blank  book.  A  piece  of  paper 
was  thrust  between  its  leaves.  As  he  picked  up  the 
book  the  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor.  He  stooped  for 
it  and  read  these  words : 

"  For  Philip,  my  husband,  when  he  comes  back. 
Farewell." 

He  opened  the  book.  It  was  a  daily  record  of 
Ariadne's  thoughts  and  feelings.  It  began  the  day  he 
left  for  the  war.  It  ended,  abruptly,  the  day  she  had 
received  the  news  that  he  was  among  the  missing 
after  that  fatal  charge.  Evidently  when  she  had  re 
turned  after  the  visitation  to  that  Pennsylvania  farm 
she  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  go  on  with  any 
thing  more.  Nor  was  it.  She  had  written  enough. 
He  had  thought  that  he  had  known  her  heart,  but 
this  was  a  revelation  such  as  it  is  vouchsafed  few  men 
to  see.  It  was  all  about  him.  There  was  nothing  but 
her  husband  and  her  love  for  him  on  every  page. 
That  was  her  life,  that  had  been  her  life  until — what 
was  her  life  now? 

Grafton  read  and  read.  His  had  been  the  treasure 
of  that  affection  so  rich,  so  full,  and  so  tender;  blind, 
he  had  never  appreciated  it.  It  had  never  moved 
him.  Now  it  was  gone  from  him. 

He  closed  the  book.  He  kissed  it  softly  again  and 
again.  He  lifted  it  to  heaven  and  swore  that  he 
would  find  her  and  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  That 
he  loved  her  only,  that  he  had  never  loved  but  her. 
He  knew  it  now.  His  other  passion  had  been  as 
moonlight  unto  sunlight  compared  to  this.  He  would 
find  her  although  the  North  and  the  South  should 
unite  to  keep  him  from  her. 


THE   BOOK  OF   THE   HEART       199 

There  was  not  the  slightest  indication  where  she 
had  gone,  no  word,  no  trace.  There  was  no  clue  in 
the  whole  house,  although  Graf  ton  made  a  complete 
search  from  top  to  bottom.  There  was  nothing  but 
that  journal,  speaking  to  him  like  a  voice  from  the 
dead.  Never  mind,  he  would  find  her.  God  did  not 
intend  to  keep  two  who  so  loved  each  other  apart. 
He  would  find  her  wherever  she  was.  He  would  live 
to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her. 

He  was  standing  in  the  hallway  when  he  heard  a 
footstep  on  the  porch.  He  turned  to  meet  an  officer, 
a  disabled  invalid  soldier  who  was  acting  as  a  com 
missioner  for  the  War  Department.  Grafton's  ex 
change  and  arrival  had  been  reported.  The  soldier 
bore  orders  for  him. 

"  Are  you  Sergeant  Philip  Grafton  of  the  Ninth 
Virginia  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  I  am  Captain  Lacy,  temporarily  attached  to  the 
War  Department  on  account  of  this  " — he  held  up  an 
armless  sleeve.  "  I  was  in  the  North  Carolina  bri 
gade  that  charged  up  Cemetery  Ridge  with  you 
fellows." 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  instantly. 

"  It  was  a  great  fight,  wasn't  it? "  said  Lacy, 
smiling. 

"  Magnificent !  "  answered  Grafton  sombrely. 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  in  it  even  if  I  did  lose  an  arm." 

"  So  am  I,"  assented  Grafton — "  although  it  is 
like  to  have  cost  me  a  wife,"  his  thoughts  ran.  He 
said  nothing  of  this  aloud,  however,  as  Lacy 
continued: 

''  The  story  has  been  told  of  how  you  led  your  men, 
the  ranking  officer  of  the  regiment,  at  the  last,  and 
fell  beside  Armistead  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  Some 
influence  has  been  brought  to  bear  and  you  have  been 


200  THE    PATRIOTS 

appointed  a  lieutenant  and  attached  to  General  Lee's 
staff." 

"  I  can't  accept  it !  "  said  Grafton  abruptly. 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Lacy,  in  astonishment. 
"  Why,  man,  there  isn't  a  soldier  in  the  army  that 
wouldn't  give  his  head  for  such  a  chance.  What's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"I     ..     I     ..." 

"  Besides,"  continued  the  young  officer,  "  you 
know  that  Grant's  been  put  in  command  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  and  he  means  business.  We  are  en 
listing  all  the  men  we  can  get  hold  of.  '  Robbing  the 
cradle  and  the  grave,'  the  Yankees  say.  By  Heaven, 
we  need  them.  Grant's  got  a  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  hundred  thousand  men  confronting  '  Lee's  Mis- 
erables  '  " — the  most  popular  book  in  the  Confeder 
acy  in  that  time  was  Hugo's  "  Les  Miserables."  The 
soldiers  called  themselves  after  that  title  in  grim  jest, 
which  was  full  of  bitter  truth,  nevertheless — "  and 
every  man,  old  and  young,  is  being  pressed  into  the 
service.  If  they  want  more  we'll  have  to  call  in  the 
women.  You  can't  refuse." 

"I  was  wrong;  of  course,  I'll  go,"  said  Grafton. 
"  You  see  my  wife     .     .     is  gone     .     .     I  don't 
know  where  she  is.     But  a  man's  duty  now     . 
his  first  duty     .     .     is  to  his  country." 

"  I  am  glad  you  see  it  that  way,"  said  Lacy  ear 
nestly;  "here  is  your  commission.  Here  are  the 
transportation  orders,  and  if  you  will  apply  at  the 
department  you  can  get  advance  pay,  such  as  it  is, 
and  arrange  a  uniform  of  some  kind.  Have  you  a 
horse?" 

"  I  can  get  one." 

"  Well,  it  will  cost  you  a  thousand  dollars  in  our 
money  now." 

"  I  still  have  a  little  gold  in  the  bank,  enough  for 


THE   BOOK   OF   THE   HEART      201 

my  needs.  Thank  you.  Give  me  the  orders.  Say  to 
Secretary  Seddon  that  I  thank  him  and  that  I  will 
report  to  General  Lee  at  once." 

"  The  quicker  the  better.  Advices  from  the  front 
say  that  Grant  is  expected  to  cross  the  Rapidan  any 
day  and  you  won't  want  to  miss  it.  Jove,  I  envy  you. 
I  wish  I  had  your  chance." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Grafton  gravely,  "  there  isn't 
a  man  in  the  army  who  need  envy  me  my  present 
situation."  He  shook  his  head,  turned  away  and 
walked  back  into  the  house. 

"  He's  hard  hit,"  said  Lacy.  "  Seems  to  me  I've 
heard  something  about  the  girl  he  married  . 
only  a  child.  I  wonder  where  she  has  gone.  Yes, 
this  war  is  hell,  as  that  bloody  marauder,  Sherman, 
says.  But  I  wish  I  could  get  back  into  it,  arm  or  no 
arml" 


BOOK  FOUR 
Ariadne 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

SPRING  days  and  flower  time  in  Virginia  in  1864. 
The  asphodel  meadows  of  the  dead  were  thick  with 
the  crimsoned  amaranthine  blossoms  that  spring  from 
heroic  human  hearts.  The  grey  and  the  blue  had 
been  fighting  again  in  the  wilderness.  May  had  been 
ushered  in  by  a  confused  battle  of  incredible  fierceness 
in  the  impenetrable  thickets  of  the  virgin  woods  south 
of  the  Rapidan.  For  two  long  and  weary  days  the 
armies  had  blindly  grappled  with  each  other. 

There  had  been  headlong  charges  and  counter 
charges,  success  and  failure  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest 
primeval.  The  great  contest  had  finally  degenerated 
into  a  series  of  hand-to-hand  struggles  between  com 
panies,  regiments,  brigades,  divisions.  The  generals 
lost  touch  with  their  men  in  the  tangles  of  the  track 
less  depths.  Only  by  the  fitful  roaring  of  musketry, 
or  artillery  outburstmg  suddenly  here  and  there  along 
the  far-flung  lines,  were  the  leaders  able  to  keep  track 
of  the  writhing  battle.  Men  stumbling  through  the 
pathless  woodland  met  others  in  the  shadowy  twilight 
of  the  leaves  and  fired  face  to  face.  Men  crashed 
through  the  underbrush  and  fought  breast  to  breast. 
Each  forest  glade  was  red  with  blood  and  filled  with 
slain.  The  suspense  and  incertitude  were  something 
horrible.  To  struggle  on,  to  fight,  to  die  without 
order,  plan  or  purpose — such  was  the  battle. 

The  heat  was  something  terrific.  There  had  been 
little  rain  for  a  long  time.  The  woods  set  on  fire  by 
shells  were  soon  blazing  in  every  direction.  Men 

205 


206  THE    PATRIOTS 

charged  over  flaming  breastworks.  The  impartial 
fire  fought  both  sides  indifferently  and  finally  tore  the 
combatants  from  each  other's  throats  and  compelled 
a  pause.  The  helpless  wounded  were  necessarily  left 
to  be  burned  alive,  to  perish  miserably  in  the  flames. 

The  advantage,  if  advantage  there  was,  was  on  the 
side  of  Lee.  Grant  had  crossed  the  Rapidan  in  that 
final  campaign  which  had  Richmond  as  its  objective. 
Lee  had  not  waited  to  be  assaulted,  but  with  brilliant 
courage  and  soldierly  decision  had  attacked  him  when 
his  army  was  entangled  in  the  wilderness.  The  loss 
had  fallen  on  the  greater,  and  the  few  had  held  the 
many  back.  Both  sides  had  suffered  terribly,  and 
during  the  7th  of  May  both  paused  for  a  breathing 
space,  if  it  could  be  got  in  that  acrid  smoke-laden  air, 
to  determine  the  next  move. 

Grafton  had  been  with  General  Lee  for  three 
months  now.  Such  had  been  his  efficiency  that  he  had 
been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  captain.  He  was  one 
of  the  great  general's  most  trusted  aides.  A  most 
valuable  officer  he  was  on  account  of  his  close  study 
of  the  intricacies  of  the  law,  his  college  training,  his 
long  experience  in  actual  war,  and  his  absolute  devo 
tion  to  his  duty,  a  devotion  which  the  general  himself 
knew  how  to  measure,  for  Grafton  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  the  first  opportunity  frankly  to  confide  in 
his  chief — to  whom  the  humblest  soldier  had  access 
with  his  complaints,  by  the  way — the  story  of  his 
lost  wife  and  his  misfortunes.  Indeed,  Lee  had 
naturally  asked  for  Mrs.  Grafton  when  first  he  had 
welcomed  the  young  subaltern  to  his  military  family. 
Grafton  had  confessed  all  to  him  with  entire  unre 
serve,  and  the  general  had  encouragingly  held  out 
hopes  to  the  young  officer  that  some  day  he  would 
find  his  wife.  Meanwhile  he  honoured  him  for  put 
ting  aside  his  grief  and  the  terrible  demands  her 


IN   THE   WILDERNESS  207 

continued   absence    made   upon    him,    to   serve   his 
country. 

On  the  morning  of  the  yth  of  May  Grafton 
had  been  despatched  with  an  order  to  Stuart,  com 
manding  the  cavalry  then  skirmishing  on  the  far  left 
and  rear  of  the  Union  army.  He  returned  about 
noon  with  grave  tidings.  As  he  galloped  to  head 
quarters  on  the  edge  of  the  Widow  Tapp's  farm 
he  saw  a  few  small  tents,  very  much  tattered,  with 
little  to  distinguish  them  from  those  of  any  other 
general  officer,  pitched  under  the  shade  of  some  trees 
near  a  running  stream.  A  sentry  paced  up  and  down. 
To  one  side  the  horses  were  tethered  by  a  single 
battered  wagon.*  Back  of  the  camp  a  fire  was  blaz- 

* "  When  we  marched  to  meet  Grant  in  the  Wilderness,  in  the 
spring  of  1864,  we  were  about  the  most  destitute  army  that  ever 
marched  to  meet  anybody,  anywhere.  We  had  nothing  to  transport, 
and  we  had  no  transportation. 

At  the  beginning  of  every  campaign  it  is  customary  for  the  com 
manding  general  to  issue  an  order,  setting  forth  the  allotment  of 
baggage  wagons  to  officers  and  men.  Just  before  we  marched  that 
spring  some  wag  in  the  army  had  printed  and  circulated  a  mock 
order  from  General  Lee,  a  copy  of  which  now  lies  before  me. 

GENERAL  ORDERS,  NUMBER  I 
HEADQUARTERS,  ARMY'OF  NORTHERN  VIRGINIA, 

April  20,  1864. 

The  allotment  of  baggage  wagons  to  the  officers  and 
men  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  during  the  coming 
campaign  will  be  as  follows: 

To  every  thirty  officers No  baggage  wagon 

To  every  three  hundred  men . .  Ditto 

(Signed)  ROBERT  E.  LEE,  General. 

This  order  was  a  good-natured  forgery,  of  course.  Nevertheless 
it  was  carried  out  to  the  letter.  The  fact  is  that  we  had  no  baggage 
and  no  baggage  wagons.  .  .  .  We  entered  that  campaign  stripped 
almost  to  the  buff.  We  had  no  tents,  even  for  the  highest  officers. 
We  had  no  canteens.  We  had  no  haversacks.  We  had  no  knap 
sacks.  We  had  no  oilcloths  to  sleep  on.  We  had  no  tin  cups.  We 
had  almost  no  cooking  utensils  and  almost  no  blankets.  We  had  no 
shoes,  and  our  socks  had  long  ago  been  worn  out  We  had  an 
average  of  no  overcoat  to  every  thousand  men." 

This  note  is  taken  from  George  Gary  Eggleston's  charming;  book, 
"Southern  Soldier  Stories." 


208  THE    PATRIOTS 

ing  cheerfully,  and  the  negro  cook  was  preparing 
dinner.  Couriers  were  coming  and  going,  and  the 
scene  was  a  busy  one.  Grafton  had  ridden  practi 
cally  all  morning,  having  taken  a  roundabout  course 
to  avoid  any  Federal  cavalry,  and  he  was  both  tired 
and  hungry.  His  message  was  one  of  great  impor 
tance,  however,  and  claimed  precedence  over  his  ap 
petite.  Disregarding  invitations  to  partake  of  the 
army's  frugal  fare  that  had  been  urged  upon  him  as 
he  rode  through  the  headquarters  guard,  he  dis 
mounted  from  his  horse,  gave  the  reins  to  an  orderly, 
and  pushed  through  the  crowd  of  officers  to  seek  the 
commanding  general. 

Lee  sat  on  a  log  under  a  tree  in  front  of  his  tent, 
somewhat  removed  from  the  people  who  made  up 
his  staff  and  escort.  He  was  older  now  than  when 
he  had  ridden  away  from  Arlington  on  that  spring 
day  four  years  before.  The  strain  of  the  greatest 
responsibility  that  had  heretofore  been  borne  by  an 
American  soldier  had  told  upon  him.  His  dark  hair 
had  become  very  grey.  His  beard,  which  was  greyer, 
had  been  allowed  to  grow  in  the  field.  He  looked  a 
much  older  man,  but  his  eyes  were  bright  and  his 
ruddy  face  was  composed  and  dignified.  Dinner  was 
being  served  him  as  Grafton  drew  near.  The  gen 
eral's  camp  equipage  was  of  the  very  simplest.  His 
plate  and  all  his  service  was  of  the  plainest  tin, 
dented  and  battered  from  hard  usage,  but  shining  as 
brightly  as  the  sturdy  arms  of  the  general's  cook 
could  polish  it. 

Bacon,  potatoes,  crackers  and  a  demijohn  com 
posed  the  menu.  Alas,  for  the  hopes  of  those  to 
whom  a  demijohn  held  forth  specious  promise  of 
strong  drink,  meet  for  soldiers!  This  vessel  con 
tained  nothing  but  buttermilk,  of  which  the  general 
was  very  fond.  He  drank  no  wine  or  other  liquor 


IN   THE   WILDERNESS  209 

on  the  field,  and  but  little  out  of  it.  The  feast  was 
a  sumptuous  one  with  such  a  combination.  Some 
times — but  infrequently — there  was  bacon,  generally 
potatoes,  hard  bread  and  water.  Coffee  was  a  rarity, 
and  the  general  did  not  care  for  chicory.  Lee  nod 
ded  pleasantly  to  the  approaching  officer,  called  to 
his  boy  to  bring  an  extra  tin  plate  and  bade  him  sit 
down  and  partake. 

"  I  have  a  message  from  General  Stuart,  sir," 
began  Grafton,  as  he  obeyed. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  general,  who  had  been 
anxiously  awaiting  word  from  the  eyes  of  the  army, 
the  cavalry. 

"  He  says  that  the  Federal  army  is  preparing  to 
move  by  its  left  flank  in  an  attempt  to  turn  our  right 
again.  He  thinks  Grant  will  endeavour  to  elude  you 
to-night.  He  wishes  instructions.  He  ventures  to 
suggest  that  possibly  a  dash  at  the  Federal  com 
munications  would  be  of  some  service  to  you." 

Lee  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  a  dash  at  the  Federal  communications 
that  perhaps  lost  us  Gettysburg,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  I  shall  have  other  use  for  General  Stuart's  men. 
Where  is  he  located,  sir?" 

"  On  the  Brook  Road  near  Todd's  Farm." 

"  Has  he  his  whole  force  in  hand?  " 

"  I  believe  so,  sir.  He  has  been  skirmishing  with 
Federal  cavalry  yesterday  and  to-day." 

"  Whose  division  is  in  advance?  " 

"  General  Fitz  Lee's,  sir." 

"  Good,"  said  the  general  reflectively.  "  Grant 
has  tried  our  lines  unavailingly.  He  knows  what 
he  can  do  and  what  he  can't."  He  paused  and  a  lit 
tle  smile  of  satisfaction  overspread  his  face  at  the 
fact  that,  in  the  first  encounter  with  the  genius 
from  the  West,  who  was  to  do  what  no  other  com- 


210  THE    PATRIOTS 

mander  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  ever  done, 
defeat  him,  he  had  gained  the  advantage.  "  Natu 
rally,  since  Richmond  is  his  probable  objective,"  re 
sumed  the  general  at  last,  "  he  will  endeavour  to 
interpose  his  army  between  us  and  the  capital.  He 
can  only  go  around  our  left  flank.  Stuart  is  cor 
rect.  We  must  stop  him  at  once.  Colonel  Taylor !  " 
he  called  out.  A  young  officer  came  forward,  sa 
luted  his  chief,  and  nodded  familiarly  to  Grafton. 
"  Will  you  hand  me  the  map  of  Spottsylvania 
County?" 

In  a  moment  Taylor  placed  the  map  in  the  gen 
eral's  hand.  Laying  aside  his  tin  plate,  Lee  pored 
over  it  intently  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Spottsylvania  Court  House,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  will  be  our  next  meeting  point."  His  mouth  closed 
firmly  and  he  looked  thoughtfully  out  toward  the 
smoking,  smouldering  forest,  where  he  had  just 
fought  one  of  his  greatest  battles.  "  Captain  Graf- 
ton,"  he  continued  formally,  after  a  little  pause, 
"  when  you  have  finished  your  dinner  .  .  ." 

"  It  comes  near  being  breakfast  as  well,  General," 
said  the  young  man,  smiling.  "  But  I  am  ready  now, 
sir."  He  had  been  eating  with  the  rapidity  of  a  busy 
soldier  since  he  sat  down. 

"Wait,"  said  Lee;  "you  have  had  time  but  for 
little.  I  shall  wish  you  to  take  another  long  ride 
presently.  A  good  soldier  always  looks  well  to  his 
commissariat  when  he  has  a  chance.  Eat  all  you  can 
now.  I  don't  know  when  you'll  get  much  more," 
he  continued,  picking  up  his  own  plate  and  falling 
to  again.  He  talked  to  Grafton  as  he  ate.  "  Those 
people  " — which  was  almost  his  invariable  method 
of  referring  to  the  enemy — "  will  try  to  move  down 
the  Brock  Road  from  Todd's  Tavern  to  the  Court 
House.  Some  of  them  will  come  down  the  Piney 


IN   THE   WILDERNESS  211 

Branch  Road  to  Alsop's.  They  have  a  little  the  ad 
vantage  of  us  in  the  point  of  distance,  but  there  are 
no  better  marchers  in  the  whole  world  than  our  bare 
foot  soldiers.  We  have  a  very  good  road  that 
crosses  the  Po  here."  He  pointed  with  his  fork  to 
the  map.  "  We'll  get  to  Spottsylvania  by  way  of 
Shady  Grove  Church,  crossing  the  Po  again  there. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  the  bridges  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  come  over  the  road  and  they  are 
intact,  or  were  this  morning." 

"  Good!  "  returned  Lee.  "  Is  the  road  practica 
ble  for  troops?  " 

"  I  think  so,  sir.  It's  terribly  dusty,  but  we  can 
certainly  get  through." 

"We  must  get  through!"  said  the  general  im 
pressively.  "  For  should  Grant  succeed  in  turning 
our  left  .  .  well,  we  won't  consider  that.  We 
can't  allow  him  to  do  it.  Tell  General  Stuart  he 
must  take  position  on  the  Brock  Road  at  Todd's 
Tavern  or  south  of  it.  He  must  send  one  division, 
Hampton's,  to  Shady  Grove  Church  Road  via  Tal- 
ley's.  When  he  gets  in  position  he  must  dismount 
his  men,  put  them  behind  such  works  as  he  can  man 
age,  and  hold  the  enemy  at  all  hazards  .  .  at  all 
hazards,  sir!  "  he  repeated  emphatically.  Grafton 
nodded  to  show  that  he  understood,  and  Lee  con 
tinued,  "  Tell  him  that  I  will  put  Longstreet's  corps 
in  motion  immediately  and  either  cross  to  him  by  the 
Catharpin  Road  and  join  him  at  the  tavern,  or  if 
the  Federal  troops  have  reached  there  before  us,  we 
shall  continue  down  the  Shady  Grove  Road  and 
move  north  to  the  Brock  Road  at  Wait's  or  Perry's. 
Do  you  understand?  " 

'  Yes,  sir,  perfectly." 

"  Impress  upon  General  Stuart  that  the  Federal 
advance  must  be  checked!  He  must  give  me  time 


212  THE    PATRIOTS 

to  get  in  front  of  Grant.  I  shall  depend  on  him. 
It  means  the  salvation  of  this  army." 

"  He'll  do  it,  sir,"  answered  Grafton  confidently, 
"  although  his  boys  don't  care  to  do  much  fighting 
on  foot." 

"  It's  the  only  possible  way  by  which  my  plans  can 
be  carried  out,"  said  Lee  earnestly.  "  General 
Grant  will  undoubtedly  cover  his  advance  with  cav 
alry,  and  while  I  have  no  doubt  Stuart  could  whip 
them,  yet  after  a  fight  with  them  he  would  be  in  no 
condition  to  withstand  their  infantry  supports.  He 
must  move  his  horses  to  the  rear  and  fight  behind 
breastworks.  It  will  be  a  hard  enough  task  as  it 
is  to  hold  back  those  people  with  his  slender  line 
of  dismounted  cavalry.  You  fully  appreciate  the 
importance  of  the  message,  Captain?  " 

"  I  do,  sir,"  said  Grafton,  rising  as  Lee  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"  You  will  allow  nothing  to  prevent  its  delivery?  " 

"Nothing,   sir." 

"  I  think  you  have  a  free  road  if  you  start  now. 
Except  for  stray  bodies  of  scouts,  I  do  not  believe 
any  of  those  people  will  be  met  with  on  our  left. 
I  shall  depend  upon  you  to  let  Stuart  know.  Per 
haps  I  would  better  send  a  second  messenger." 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary,  sir,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  I  came  safely  through  this  morning,  and  I 
am  sure  I  can  go  back  now." 

"  You  will  try  the  Catharpin  Road  to  Todd's 
Tavern?  " 

•'  Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  well.  Stuart  has  his  artillery  with  him?  " 
'Yes,  sir." 

"  Good!  I  shall  expect  to  hear  the  sound  of  his 
guns  late  in  the  evening,  if  not  before.  When  can 
you  start?  " 


IN  THE   WILDERNESS  213 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  now,  sir." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  not  give  you  any  written 
orders.  Stuart  knows  you  are  on  my  staff,  and  the 
situation  is  so  simple  that  a  word  or  two  will  make 
him  see  it  as  I  do.  Good-bye." 

Grafton  saluted  and  turned  away.  Lee  summoned 
Colonel  Taylor,  talked  with  him  a  moment  explain 
ing  his  purpose,  orders  were  hastily  prepared,  and  in 
a  short  time  couriers  were  riding  in  different  direc 
tions  carrying  the  orders  to  the  different  corps  com 
manders  for  the  immediate  movement  of  the  army 
from  Grant's  front  to  his  left.  The  race  for  Spott- 
sylvania  Court  House  was  begun. 


CHAPTER   XX 

A    FORGOTTEN    DUTY 

GRAFTON'S  horse  had  been  refreshed  by  the  brief 
rest  and  as  generous  a  provision  of  forage  as  any  of 
the  horses  in  that  army  ever  received  then,  which 
was  very  little.  The  animal  was,  of  course,  not  in 
the  best  condition  and  had  been  ridden  rather  hard 
during  the  morning,  but  Grafton  was  a  consummate 
horseman.  He  knew  how  to  get  the  most  out  of 
anything  he  rode  without  wearing  it  away,  or  fret 
ting  it  to  death,  and  there  was  still  plenty  of  speed 
in  the  gallant  animal  he  bestrode. 

It  was  about  two  when  he  left  headquarters  and 
moved  off.  He  cantered  down  the  narrow,  wretched 
road,  making  as  good  speed  as  possible  until  he 
struck  a  better  way  after  he  crossed  Orange  Plank 
Road.  No  adventure  of  any  sort  befell  him  as  he 
galloped  along.  He  met  few  people,  and  those 
mostly  small  farmers,  men  too  old  for  the  ranks, 
who  were  hurrying  the  women  and  children  south 
to  get  them  out  of  the  track  of  the  wrestling 
armies. 

Grafton  had  plenty  of  leisure  to  indulge  his 
thoughts,  therefore.  As  always  when  alone,  and 
even  when  he  was  in  the  company  of  the  others,  pro 
vided  they  made  no  demand  upon  his  attention,  those 
thoughts  were  of  Ariadne.  He  had  been  most  as 
siduous  in  his  search  for  her  since  his  exchange, 
through  such  agents  as  he  could  employ.  His  own 
duties  did  not  permit  him  a  day's  leisure  for  the  pur 
pose,  but  by  letters  and  other  means  which  he  could 

214 


A    FORGOTTEN    DUTY  215 

command  he  had  kept  persistently  looking  for  her 
— but  with  absolutely  no  success  at  all.  There  was 
something  that  was  hopeful  in  the  absence  of  any 
tidings,  he  thought,  for  he  believed  that  silence  in 
dicated  that  she  was  alive  and  well.  He  trusted 
that  if  anything  serious  were  to  befall  her,  or  even 
threaten  her,  her  love  for  him,  which  he  knew  now 
nothing  could  ever  alter,  would  move  her  to  send  him 
word.  He  watched  every  mail  that  reached  head 
quarters  with  a  fervid  expectancy  and  a  hope  that 
no  disappointment  could  ever  entirely  quench.  No 
tidings  ever  came.  As  he  galloped  along  the  open 
road  he  wondered  and  wondered  where  she  could  be. 

He  was  thankful  to  note  that  the  character  of 
the  country  had  changed.  The  armies  moving  south 
would  soon  be  out  of  the  wilderness.  The  forests 
had  been  cleared  away  in  places  and  the  land  was 
dotted  with  smiling  farms.  The  little  houses  were 
for  the  most  part  empty,  but  the  crops  had  been  put 
in  and  were  already  showing  well  above  the  ground. 
The  farmers  had  fled,  but  when  Lee  had  succeeded 
in  defeating  Grant,  as  he  had  defeated  every  other 
Union  commander  who  had  tried  to  move  south, 
they  would  come  back  again  and  reap  where  they 
had  sowed.  That  Lee  would  succeed  in  foiling  and 
repelling  his  great  antagonist,  Grafton  did  not  for 
a  second  doubt.  That  Lee  could  ever  be  beaten, 
that  the  Southern  Confederacy,  even  though  it  was 
now  in  such  desperate  straits,  could  ultimately  fail, 
was  not  a  possible  article  in  any  Southern  soldier's 
creed. 

Always  after  a  great  battle  in  which  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  had  been  checked  or  defeated,  there 
had  been  a  long  cessation  of  active  hostilities.  Grant, 
so  the  young  man  reflected,  seemed  to  be  made  of 
sterner  stuff  than  the  others.  He  had  been  defeated 


216  THE    PATRIOTS 

and  had  lost  terribly  in  his  assaults  upon  the  Con 
federate  lines;  and,  according  to  the  hitherto  in 
variable  practice  of  the  Union  commanders,  he 
should  now  be  moving  back  across  the  Rapidan  to 
recuperate  and  reorganise  before  trying  again,  but  it 
seemed  that  he  had  not  yet  had  enough  of  it !  Well, 
the  next  battle  would  probably  satisfy  him,  and  then, 
well,  then  perhaps  Grafton  might  get  leave  of  absence 
and  go  to  seek  her. 

Where  could  she  be?  So  he  rode  along  through 
the  hot  spring  afternoon  until  he  reached  the  Cathar- 
pin  Road.  Now  it  was  just  possible  that  the  Federal 
troops  had  seized  Todd's  Tavern  in  force  and  that 
Stuart  had  fallen  back.  If  that  were  the  case,  the 
Catharpin  Road  would  not  be  a  safe  turning  for  him. 
He  had  no  means  of  determining  the  matter,  how 
ever,  so  he  turned  his  horse  to  the  northeastward  and 
rapidly  galloped  on  toward  the  tavern,  perhaps  two 
miles  away.  If  he  could  get  through  that  way,  he 
could  save  a  long  and  costly  detour  and  a  correspond 
ing  delay.  He  kept  a  sharp  lookout  and  at  every 
turning  of  the  road  he  stopped,  cautiously  examining 
in  front  of  him  before  he  advanced  further. 

He  met  nothing,  however,  until  he  was  within  per 
haps  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  tavern.  The 
road  there  ran  through  a  thick  grove  of  trees  and 
underbrush.  Off  to  the  left  a  small  neighbourhood 
road  branched  from  the  highway  and  meandered 
through  the  trees  until  it  was  lost  in  a  sudden  turn  in 
the  forest.  He  stopped  and  looked  up  it  carefully. 
He  saw  and  heard  nothing.  A  search  of  the  road 
in  front  revealed  no  one.  He  gathered  up  the  reins 
and  spoke  to  his  horse,  when  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
scream  broke  the  silence.  It  came  to  him  faintly 
from  some  distance  away.  It  was  a  shriek  fraught 
with  terror,  and  it  touched  him  profoundly. 


A   FORGOTTEN    DUTY  217 

His  natural  instinct  was  to  turn  to  the  branch  road 
and  see  what  was  the  matter,  but  it  was  a  case  where 
natural  instinct  had  to  give  way  before  military  ex 
igency.  The  message  to  Stuart  was  vital.  He  could 
not  play  the  wandering  knight  to  distressed  women, 
however  great  the  peril,  and  thus  jeopard  the  com 
ing  battle  by  failing  to  carry  the  order  with  the  de 
livery  of  which  he  was  charged.  Yet  he  hesitated 
when  the  scream  broke  on  his  ears,  and  he  remained 
a  moment  irresolute.  He  heard  the  wild  cry  again. 
It  appealed  to  him  most  powerfully.  On  the  out 
skirts  of  every  army  there  were  certain  masterless 
men  of  the  basest  sort,  who  ravaged  and  plundered 
indiscriminately,  who  would  not  stop  at  robbery,  or 
murder — or  even  worse. 

There  was  a  woman  in  trouble.  Some  of  those 
fiends  had  her.  She  was  fighting  for  what  was  dearer 
than  life.  What  horrors  war  brought  upon  those 
who  could  not  enlist  in  the  ranks  and  who  were  called, 
in  mockery,  non-combatants — old  men,  mothers, 
women,  children  I  God,  it  was  horrible !  The  sweat 
beaded  on  his  brow,  yet  with  an  aching  heart  he 
turned  and  spoke  to  his  horse.  A  black  figure,  tat 
tered  and  torn,  burst  through  the  bushes  at  that  mo 
ment.  It  was  an  old  negro,  white-haired,  his  face 
ashy  under  its  pigment. 

Fer  Gawd's  sake,  suh  I  '*  he  cried,  lifting  his 
hands  as  he  saw  the  horseman,  "  dey  got  my  young 
mistis  dar  an'  dey  .  .  fer  de  lub  er  heabin',  hit's 
Marse  Philip 

"  Aza  1  "  cried  Grafton.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"  Dem  iYanks,  dey  got  Miss  'Adny.  Ef  you 
doan  .  .  ." 

Philip  heard  no  more.  Those  screams  came  from 
the  lips  of  his  wife;  she  it  was  who — it  was  more 


218  THE    PATRIOTS 

than  flesh  and  blood  could  stand.  He  turned,  for 
getful  of  everything  but  that  she  was  in  deadly  peril. 
He  drove  the  spurs  until  the  blood-stained  rowels 
sank  deep  into  the  flanks  of  his  astonished  horse. 
Sudden  as  a  released  arrow  from  its  bow  the  horse 
leaped  into  the  air  and  was  away.  Grafton  loosened 
his  revolver  from  its  holster  as  he  ran.  Two  minutes 
that  seemed  hours  brought  him  to  a  little  sequestered 
clearing.  A  small  white  house,  a  story  and  a  half 
high,  nestled  among  the  trees.  Flowers  bloomed 
around  the  porch.  A  little  garden  lay  off  to  the  left. 
On  the  porch  a  woman  was  struggling  desperately 
in  the  arms  of  three  men.  Half  a  dozen  others  were 
congregated  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  watching  the 
scene,  laughing,  yelling  in  brutal  and  vulgar  triumph. 
Others  were  ransacking  some  of  the  outbuildings 
further  away. 

Their  uniforms,  so  far  as  they  wore  any,  were  blue. 
All  told  there  might  have  been  a  score  of  them.  But 
Grafton  did  not  stop  for  that.  His  advent  was  a 
complete  surprise.  He  was  upon  them  like  a  storm. 
The  pistol  cracked  in  his  nervous  hands.  Once, 
twice,  thrice,  and  each  time  a  man  fell.  The  startled 
survivors  started  to  run.  One  man  on  the  porch  re 
leased  the  woman,  who  redoubled  her  efforts  to  es 
cape,  and  turned  and  drew  his  pistol,  firing  in  return. 
The  bullet  grazed  Grafton  and  struck  his  horse 
vitally.  The  poor  beast  stopped,  faltered  and  fell. 
He  had  been  hard  hit  and  was  done  for.  Grafton 
luckily  disengaged  himself  as  he  went  down  and  shot 
the  man  before  he  could  pull  the  trigger  again.  He 
drew  his  sword  and  rushed  at  the  remaining  man  on 
the  porch.  A  slightly  wounded  man  at  the  steps, 
who  had  seized  his  gun,  rashly  interposed.  Grafton 
swept  him  out  of  his  path  with  a  terrific  blow  of  his 
sabre.  He  had  one  load  left  in  his  pistol.  He  shot 


A    FORGOTTEN    DUTY  219 

the  foremost  man  on  the  porch  and  made  at  the  last 
with  the  point  of  his  sword  upwards. 

This  man  snapped  his  pistol  full  in  the  furious 
Confederate's  face.  The  bullet  grazed  his  cheek. 
It  staggered  him  for  a  moment,  but  he  still  came  on, 
whereupon  the  remaining  ruffian  turned,  darted 
through  the  house,  and  sought  safety  in  the  wood 
beyond.  Half  a  dozen  dead  and  dying  men  lay 
groaning  and  cursing  in  the  yard.  No  enemy  faced 
the  excited  soldier  for  the  moment.  He  could  have 
swept  an  army  out  of  his  path  to  get  to  Ariadne.  He 
dropped  his  sword  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to 
his  wife,  standing  so  straight,  so  dauntless,  before 
him.  With  pale  face  she  stared  at  him  where  the 
blood  trickled  across  his  cheek. 

"Philip!"  she  cried.  She  had  not  recognised 
him  till  then. 

She  made  a  beautiful  picture  in  spite  of  her  dis 
arranged  clothing,  caused  by  her  struggle  with  the 
rough  men. 

"  Thank  God,  I  have  found  you !  "  answered  her 
husband,  oblivious  to  every  thought  but  that  at  first, 
"  that  I  have  come  in  time  to  save  you !  " 

"  You  are  hurt,  beloved !  "  cried  Ariadne,  moving 
toward  him  as  one  in  a  dream. 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  her  husband,  wiping  the  blood 
away  with  his  hand.  "  A  bullet  in  my  heart  couldn't 
hurt  now  that  I  have  found  you.  Oh,  if  you  only 
knew  how  I  have  .  .  ." 

A  musket  shot  rang  through  the  air.  Graf  ton 
acted  promptly.  He  realised  instantly  that  some  of 
the  men,  who  had  fled  before  his  onslaught,  seeing 
that  he  was  alone  and  knowing  that  he  was  practically 
weaponless,  had  rallied,  and  led  by  him  who  had 
passed  through  the  house,  had  renewed  the  attack. 
He  seized  Ariadne,  who  still  stared  at  him  as  if  in 


220  THE    PATRIOTS 

a  daze,  by  the  arm  and  whirled  her  into  the  house. 
He  flung  to  the  door  and  locked  it. 

"  Have  you  a  weapon?  "  he  cried. 

"  Upstairs,"  she  answered,  "  in  my  room.  I  keep 
it  there." 

"Which  way?" 

"  Here." 

She  opened  the  door.  He  drew  her  into  the  stair 
way  and  urged  her  up.  Together  they  entered  her 
chamber,  a  half-story  room,  under  the  long  roof,  with 
dormer  window,  furnished  in  that  same  virginal  white 
that  he  had  seen  so  long  ago  in  Richmond.  She  ran 
to  a  bureau  drawer,  and,  opening  it,  produced  a  small 
but  serviceable  revolver,  useful  in  close  quarters.  He 
looked  rapidly  about  him  as  she  did  so.  The  win 
dows  gave  on  the  forest.  The  men  outside  could 
easily  shoot  into  the  room.  At  that  instant  a  bullet 
crashed  through  the  sash,  passed  between  the  heads 
of  the  two  young  people,  and  buried  itself  in  the  op 
posite  ceiling. 

"Down!"  cried  Grafton,  taking  his  wife  and 
fairly  forcing  her  to  her  knees.  He  took  position 
beside  her  where  he  could  see  with  a  minimum  of 
danger  while  she  was  entirely  protected. 

"  We're  in  a  tight  place,"  he  whispered;  "  I  don't 
know  whether  we'll  get  out  of  it  alive  or  not.  I  have 
only  one  thing  to  say.  You  are  mistaken;  I  loved 
you  alone." 

"And  Kathleen?" 

"  That  was  a  boyish  infatuation.  I  care  nothing 
for  her.  I  never  did."  Oh,  Philip,  Philip!  Yet  he 
believed  it! — "  I  love  only  you." 

Another  bullet  zipped  through  the  window.  Philip 
raised  his  pistol  quickly  and  fired  at  the  place  whence 
the  shot  had  come  in  the  underbrush.  Yells  of  pain 
answered  his  shot. 


A   FORGOTTEN    DUTY  221 

"  I  got  one,  I  guess.  That'll  make  them  more 
cautious,"  he  continued.  "  My  heart  broke  when  I 
found  that  you  had  been  there  and  left  me."  Some 
one  ran  across  the  open  yard  and  Philip  fired  again. 
"  Missed !  "  he  said  in  great  disappointment. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  porch,  and 
presently  the  little  house  shook  and  rocked  as  if  some 
thing  heavy  and  solid  was  hurled  against  the  door. 

"  What  is  that?  "  cried  Ariadne,  who  really  didn't 
much  care  what  it  was.  Philip  had  found  her,  he  had 
come  back  to  her — and  he  loved  her!  Nothing 
could  matter  after  that. 

"  They  have  gained  the  porch  and  are  breaking 
the  door  in,"  he  said. 

;'  What  will  they  do  next?" 

"  Try  to  rush  the  stairs." 

"And  then?" 

"  Some  of  them  will  die  before  they  get  up,"  he 
responded  grimly. 

"  Save  one  shot  for  me,  Philip,  and  a  kiss,"  said 
his  wife.  "  Those  men  were  going  to  .  .  ." 

"  They  shall  never  lay  hands  on  you  again,  dear," 
said  Philip  savagely. 

He  stepped  over  to  the  door,  stood  before  it  in 
such  a  way  as  not  to  be  visible  from  the  window  and 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  opened  it.  The  stair  was 
a  blind  one  with  a  sharp  turn  half-way  up.  He 
wanted  to  see  anybody  coming  that  way.  The 
marauders  must  have  been  reinforced,  for  they  sud 
denly  began  a  rapid  fire  at  the  window  of  the  cham 
ber,  evidently  to  distract  the  inmates.  But  one  of 
those  inmates  was  a  veteran  soldier  and  the  other 
was  a  woman,  who  had  just  found  her  lover's  heart. 
They  were  not  to  be  distracted  by  such  things  as  gun 
shots  then. 

The  bullets  zipped  and  tore  harmlessly  through 


222  THE    PATRIOTS 

the  room.  Ariadne  had  crept  away  from  the  window 
and  now  crouched  down  on  the  floor  by  Philip's  side. 
She  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  him  standing  there 
so  resolute  and  ready.  She  wanted  to  lay  her  head 
at  his  feet;  she  thought  she  had  never  imagined  him 
so  brave,  so  handsome,  so  utterly  magnificent  I  And 
he  had  not  time  to  kiss  her  yet!  Well,  he  would 
make  time  for  that  if  he  had  to  kill  her  and  she  would 
die  content. 

The  fusillade  outside  was  intended  to  cover  the  real 
attack,  for  Grafton  heard  a  slight  creak  on  the  stair. 
He  raised  his  pistol,  and  as  a  man  followed  a  pro 
truding  musket-barrel  around  the  angle,  Grafton  put 
a  bullet  in  his  head.  Believing  that  he  had  expended 
his  last  shot,  another  man  recklessly  exposed  him 
self,  to  meet  a  like  fate.  Philip  had  another  life  in 
his  pistol,  besides  one  shot  for  Ariadne,  and  he  cried 
out  in  triumph  and  bade  them  come  on. 

But  the  musketry  fire  outside  died  away.  A  voice 
bade  someone  kindle  a  fire.  It  was  evident  that  the 
besieged  were  to  be  burned  out.  That  was  a  danger 
against  which  Philip  could  do  nothing.  He  looked 
at  Ariadne  in  dismay. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  the  girl,  noting  his  mute  in 
quiry;  "  you  have  found  me  and  you  love  me.  Noth 
ing  else  matters." 

But  life  was  very  sweet  to  Philip  at  that  moment. 
He  had  found  his  wife  and  he  did  not  wish  to  die. 
He  wished  to  live  to  love  her  and  to  enjoy  her  love. 
If  he  had  to  die,  however,  the  time  and  place  and 
company  could  not  better  be  chosen.  He  hated  to 
stay  there  and  be  burned  to  death  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 
If  he  were  alone  he  would  make  a  dash  for  it,  but,  of 
course,  he  could  not  leave  Ariadne.  Why  had  Fate 
played  him  so  sorry  a  trick  as  to  lay  him  by  the  heels 
at  the  instant  above  all  others  when  she  had  put  her 


A    FORGOTTEN    DUTY  223 

greatest  gift  in  his  hand?  He  stood  irresolute  for  a 
moment,  when  another  sound  broke  on  his  ear.  He 
heard  the  galloping  of  horses,  the  jingle  of  bits, 
sharp  words  of  command.  It  was  a  soldierly  voice : 
there  was  something  in  the  ring  that  gave  Grafton 
confidence.  Whether  Union  or  Confederate  forces 
made  no  matter.  Anything  would  be  better  than 
these  guerrillas.  Horsemen  galloped  into  the  yard. 
Recklessly  exposing  himself,  Grafton  leaned  out  of 
the  window  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

'  These  ruffians  are  trying  to  outrage  a  woman !  " 

The  bullets  sang  around  him,  but  none  hit  him. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  heard  a  sharp  voice  say.  "  Lay 
down  your  arms,  you  infernal  scoundrels;  you  dis 
grace  the  army!  " 

"  What's  that  to  you,  damn  you !  "  cried  the  voice 
of  the  man  who  had  given  the  order  to  burn  the 
house. 

"  Everything,"  retorted  the  other  speaker.  "  If 
you  don't  surrender  instantly,  I  will  .  .  ." 

The  answer  was  a  pistol  shot,  and  the  reply  to  that, 
delivered  by  the  new  arrivals  without  orders,  was  a 
volley.  There  was  a  sudden  burst  of  firing,  which 
presently  died  away. 

"  Come,"  said  Grafton  quickly;  "they're  fighting 
each  other.  Perhaps  we  can  escape." 

He  seized  Ariadne's  hand  and  plunged  down  the 
stair  over  the  dead  bodies  of  the  men  he  had  shot, 
who  still  encumbered  it.  He  turned  to  go  out  of  the 
back  door  and  found  himself  confronting  half  a 
dozen  Union  cavalrymen. 

"Is  this  the  lady?"  asked  the  young  officer  in 
advance. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Grafton,  "  and  I  never  was  so 
glad  to  see  a  blue  uniform  before." 

"  Those  cattle  disgrace  our  ranks.     They're  not 


THE    PATRIOTS 

enlisted,  not  amenable  to  any  orders,  under  no  disci 
pline,  cowards !  " 

"  I  understand  exactly  what  they  are,  sir.  War 
always  brings  such  villains  to  the  fore.  And  many 
of  our  own  camp-followers  are  of  the  same  vile 
breed." 

"  There  will  be  a  few  less  of  them  when  I  turn 
the  rest  of  those  hounds  over  to  General  Patrick,  our 
provost  marshal,"  returned  the  officer.  "  I  trust 
the  lady  took  no  hurt  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  Grafton. 

"  I  arrived  just  in  time,  then,"  said  the  Union 
officer.  "Of  course,  you  belong  to  the  Confederate 
army,  sir?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  must  take  you  prisoner.  I'm  sorry  to  do 
it,  but  I  have  no  option,  of  course." 

The  officer  was  right;  he  had  no  option.  Nor 
had  Grafton  any  way  of  escape.  What  had  brought 
the  Federal  squadron  down  toward  the  Catharpin 
Road,  he  wondered?  Stuart  could  not  be  at  Todd's 
Tavern  then.  That  message  he  was  to  deliver,  upon 
which  the  fate  of  the  armies  hung — he  had  forgotten 
it  until  that  moment!  As  it  flashed  into  his  mind 
with  the  consciousness  that  he  was  a  helpless  prisoner, 
for  the  second  time  that  afternoon  the  sweat  beaded 
his  forehead.  He  could  not  get  to  Stuart  now.  Lee's 
army  would  be  outflanked.  He  could  do  nothing, 
nothing !  Something  of  his  emotion  was  apparent  in 
his  face;  the  officer  saw  it. 

"  Too  bad,  sir,"  he  said  kindly,  "  but,  of  course,  it 
can't  be  helped." 

Ariadne  saw  it,  too,  and  wondered.  She  stepped 
closer  to  her  husband. 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  you  with  me,"  continued  the 
officer.  "Your  horse?" 


A    FORGOTTEN    DUTY  225 

"  He  was  killed  by  those  scoundrels." 

'*  Well,  I  have  a  spare  one  here." 

"Am  I  a  prisoner  also,  sir?"  asked  Ariadne,  a 
quick  idea  coming  to  her. 

"  Surely  not,  madam." 

"  This  officer  is  my  husband.  We  have  not  seen 
each  other  for  over  a  year.  Will  you  allow  us  to 
speak  together  for  a  few  moments  before  you  take 
him  away?  " 

"  Certainly,"  returned  the  gallant  young  officer. 
'*  The  horses  need  water  and  we  have  been  riding 
hard  since  daybreak.  I'll  give  the  men  a  little  rest. 
You  don't  happen  to  know  where  the  rest  of  your 
army  is,  I  take  it?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  If  I  did,  I  wouldn't  tell  you,"  returned  the  South 
erner  gravely. 

"  Of  course  not.  Well,  you  can  have  five  minutes 
to  say  good-bye  to  your  wife.  Madam,  a  word  of 
advice  to  you:  you'd  better  get  out  of  this  neigh 
bourhood  as  soon  as  possible.  There's  going  to  be 
fighting  hereabouts  and  you  may  not  be  so  lucky  the 
next  time." 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A     BRAVE     MESSENGER 

THE  officer  dismounted  from  his  horse,  and,  turning 
him  over  to  an  orderly,  withdrew  a  short  distance 
from  his  prisoner.  His  men  having  disarmed  and 
tightly  bound  the  surviving  guerrillas,  also  took  ad 
vantage  of  the  brief  respite.  The  horses  cropped 
the  thick  grass  of  the  yard,  the  men  threw  themselves 
down  under  the  trees,  pipes  were  brought  out  and 
lighted,  and  one  or  two  improved  the  shining  hour 
by  kindling  fires.  Soon  the  coffee — real  coffee,  since 
the  Federal  troops  had  plenty  of  it — was  boiling. 
They  had  travelled  far  and  were  very  tired.  They 
were  a  detachment  of  Merritt's  cavalry  and  had  been 
sent  scouting  on  this  branch  route  to  see  if  the  Con 
federates  were  moving  up  the  Catharpin  Road  or  to 
discover  if  Lee  were  moving  to  the  right.  Before 
Grafton  could  exchange  a  word  with  Ariadne  a  huge 
black  old  negress  waddled  on  the  scene.  In  her 
wake,  following  meekly,  as  became  his  subordinate 
station,  was  her  husband. 

"  Aunt  Dessy !  "  cried  Ariadne.  "  I'm  so  glad  to 
see  you.  I  thought  perhaps  you  were  killed." 

"  I  dess  lak  to  see  dem  Yankee  scalawags  lay  a 
han'  on  me !  Dis  heah  wufless  nigger  run  lak  a 
tarryfied  rabbit  an'  lef  me  'lone  wid  nobody." 

"  Wen  I  las'  seed  you  you  was  a-mekin'  time  yo'- 
sef !  "  returned  Aza  angrily. 

"  Yas,  but  I  was  gwine  todes  de  house  an'  you  was 
gwine  'way  'fum  hit !  I  was  in  de  gyarden  w'en  dey 
cum,  Miss  'Adny,  or  I'd  been  wid  you." 

226 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  227 

"  I  know  you  were,  Aunt  Dessy." 

"  An'  I  was  gwine  fer  re'nfo'cements,"  retorted 
the  man.  "  I  seed  de  Yanks  was  too  many  fer  me, 
an'  ef  hit  hadn't  been  fer  me,  wha'd  you-all  been? 
'Case  I  fetched  Marse  Phil.  I  des  know'd  he  was 
dar  w'en  I  runned  down  to  de  big  road.  An'  I 
fetched  him." 

"  You  fetched  him ! "  cried  Aunt  Dessy  con 
temptuously;  "he  was  heah  fer  mos'  a  hour  fo'  you 
cum." 

"  I  didn't  had  no  horse,"  returned  Aza,  "  but  I  was 
a-movin'  des  as  fas'  as  my  ol'  roomatic  laigs  'ud  cyary 
me." 

"You  both  did  splendidly,"  said  Ariadne;  but 
Philip  broke  in  impatiently. 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  these  men  here  a  little  while," 
he  said  under  his  breath  to  his  wife.  Ariadne  nod 
ded.  She  made  a  step  toward  the  Union  officer,  who 
was  surveying  the  scene  with  much  amusement. 

"  Sir,"  she  began,  "  I  should  like  to  show  you  some 
gratitude  for  my  rescue.  Won't  you  let  my  servants 
make  some  coffee  for  your  men?  .  .  only  you  will 
have  to  furnish  it;  we  have  none,  .  .  but  I  think 
we  have  some  corn  bread  and  bacon  which  .  .  ." 

"  Which  will  be  very  welcome,  madam,"  said  the 
young  officer.  "  And  I  thank  you  kindly." 

"  Dessy,  you  and  Aza  see  what  you  can  do,"  said 
Ariadne.  "  How  many  men  have  you,  Captain?  " 

"  I  started  out  with  forty-eight,  but  I've  lost  ten 
by  the  way." 

"  I  hab  de  coffee  bilin'  in  a  jiffy,  ef  dey'll  gib  it 
to  me,"  said  Aunt  Dessy.  "  You,  Aza,  go  fotch  de 
bacon  an'  de  cohn  meal.  Cum  'long.  Lemme  see 
ef  you  kin  move  as  quick  as  you  was  a-movin'  w'en 
you  was  gwine  fo'  hep.  I  reckon  I'd  radder  hab  dat 
gait  dan  w'en  you  was  a-comin'  back." 


228  THE    PATRIOTS 

The  Union  officer,  after  this  development,  walked 
over  to  his  first  sergeant.  Thereafter  two  of  the 
troopers  mounted  and  galloped  down  the  road  to 
look  out  for  a  possible  enemy  and  prevent  a  surprise. 
He  was  a  prudent  captain  evidently,  observed  Graf- 
ton.  The  rest  now  unsaddled  their  horses  and  made 
preparations  for  a  longer  wait.  Not  only  was  the 
officer  a  good  soldier,  but  he  was  a  gentleman  as  well, 
for  there  was  nothing  on  earth  that  could  have  pre 
vented  him  from  taking  everything  which  the  place 
afforded,  if  he  had  been  so  disposed.  Most  soldiers, 
even  gentlemen,  would  not  have  scrupled  to  supply 
their  hungry  men  under  the  circumstances,  yet  the 
fact  that  this  Confederate  officer  had  made  so  gal 
lant  a  defence  against  the  guerrillas  and  had  ap 
pealed  to  him  for  protection  rather  put  the  Union 
officer  on  his  mettle  to  show  his  quality.  It  was  as  if 
the  Confederate  had  recognised  in  him  a  man  of 
honour  and  had  trusted  to  him,  and  he  was  anxious 
to  prove  that  he  was  worthy.  He  was  a  kind-hearted 
fellow,  anyway. 

Then  Ariadne's  beauty,  and  her  graciousness,  also 
attracted  him.  He  was  altogether  inclined  to  go  to 
lengths  in  complaisance,  which  perhaps  under  other 
circumstances  he  would  not  have  thought  of.  He  left 
the  two  entirely  alone,  therefore,  while  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  repast  were  being  made.  He  was  very 
careful  to  keep  them  in  sight,  but  that  was  all.  So 
soon  as  he  could  do  so  Philip  turned  to  Ariadne. 

"  Oh,"  she  began,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  found 
me  since  .  .  ." 

"  Dearest,"  said  her  husband  quickly,  "  I  haven't 
time  to  talk  of  that  now." 

Ariadne  flushed  angrily  and  opened  her  mouth  to 
speak. 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  misunderstand  me !  "  he 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  229 

whispered;  "you  are  the  dearest  thing  on  earth  to 
me,  but  in  riding  here,  in  getting  myself  captured,  I 
have  jeoparded  the  safety  of  the  army." 

"  And  do  you  regret  your  action?  " 

"  I  regret  nothing.  Look  as  if  we  were  talking 
indifferently,  please.  I  had  to  do  it,  but  the  situation 
is  a  fearful  one  to  me.  It  spells  dishonour." 

"Philip!" 

"  Unless  you  can  help  me." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do?  " 

"  So  soon  as  these  men  have  had  their  meal  they 
will  leave  here.  They  will  probably  go  further 
south,  for  they  have  learned  nothing  yet,  and  I  shall 
be  taken  with  them.  The  officer  evidently  does  not 
mean  to  take  you  a  prisoner.  So  soon  as  he  is  out 
of  sight  you  must  .  .  have  you  a  horse?  " 

"  Bonnibel  is  hidden  in  the  woods." 

"  Good !  You  must  go  up  to  Todd's  Tavern  .  . 
do  you  know  where  it  is?  " 

Certainly.     I  know  every  trail  in  this  part  of 
the  country." 

"  It's  more  than  I  do,"  said  Grafton. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  quickly.  We  may  not  be  left  alone 
long." 

"  After  you  reach  Todd's  Tavern  you  must  ride 
down  the  Brock  Road  .  .  do  you  follow  me?" 

"  Absolutely." 

"  Until  you  fall  in  with  General  Stuart's  force." 

"  But  I  don't  know  General  Stuart." 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  You  must  tell  him 
you  are  my  wife." 

14  Does  he  know  you?  " 

:<  Very  well.  Tell  him  I  delivered  his  message  to 
General  Lee  at  noon,  that  General  Lee  says  he  must 
on  no  account  strike  at  the  Federal  communications, 
for  which  he  asked  permission.  The  day  for  raid- 


230  THE    PATRIOTS 

ing  is  past.  He  must  hold  the  Brock  Road  with 
half  his  command  and  send  the  other  to  the  Shady 
Grove  Church  Road.  The  Federals  are  undoubtedly 
advancing  toward  Spottsylvania  Court  House.  They 
must  be  checked  on  both  roads  until  our  army  can 
get  ahead  of  them.  Longstreet's  corps  is  marching 
to-night  on  the  Shady  Grove  Church  Road.  General 
Lee  wishes  General  Stuart  to  dismount  his  men  and 
fight  behind  entrenchments.  On  no  account  must  he 
charge  the  Federal  cavalry,  which  will  probably  cover 
the  Federal  advance.  He  is  to  look  out  also  for  a 
Federal  advance  on  his  flank  from  the  Piney  Branch 
Road.  He  would  better  keep  one  brigade  to  cover 
the  Piney  Branch  Road,  a  division  with  the  guns  on 
the  Brock  Road  and  a  third  division  on  the  Shady 
Grove  Church  Road.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Entirely." 

"  Repeat  me  the  orders  to  make  sure." 

Grafton  spoke  like  a  soldier  in  his  haste,  and  Ari 
adne  answered  like  one. 

"  It's  this  way,"  she  said.  She  had  brought  to  bear 
an  unusually  keen  intellect  to  comprehend  her  hus 
band's  rapid  instructions.  '*  There  are  two  roads  to 
Spottsylvania  Court  House,  the  Brock  Road  and 
the  Shady  Grove  Church  Road.  General  Stuart  is 
somewhere  about  Todd's  Tavern?  He  is  to  divide 
his  force  into  three  parts.  Put  one  part  with  the  guns 
on  the  Brock  Road  at  the  tavern,  or  as  near  it  as 
possible.  The  smallest  division  on  the  Piney  Branch 
Road  and  another  division  on  the  Shady  Grove 
Church  Road.  His  men  are  to  dismount  and  fight 
behind  breastworks,  such  as  they  can  improvise.  Gen 
eral  Lee  is  marching  to  Spottsylvania  Court  House 
by  the  Shady  Grove  Church  Road  and  Longstreet's 
troops  should  get  there  some  time  to-morrow.  He  is 
to  keep  the  Yankees  back  till  then." 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  231 

"  You  have  it  exactly,"  said  her  husband.  "  It's 
wonderful;  I'm  proud  of  you!  " 

"  There  hasn't  been  a  move  of  the  army  for  four 
years,"  answered  Ariadne,  "  that  I  have  not  studied, 
map  in  hand." 

Were  you  thinking  of  me?  " 

"  Of  whom  else?  "  she  answered,  turning  her  eyes 
full  on  him. 

Heavens,  how  beautiful  she  was!  Her  plain  and 
simple  life,  in  that  quiet,  sequestered  region,  the 
hardy  fare  to  which  she  perforce  had  accustomed 
herself,  the  open  air  exercises  in  the  little  garden  and 
riding  on  the  country  roads,  had  developed  her  amaz 
ingly.  Her  cheek  was  tanned  by  the  sun  and  air,  her 
figure  had  rounded  into  proportions  that  were  per 
fection  itself.  A  healthy,  if  delicate,  colour  glowed 
in  her  cheek.  Life,  Youth,  Love  sparkled  in  her  eye, 
crimsoned  her  lips. 

Philip  looked  at  her  and  thought  what  a  fool 
he  had  been  ever  to  have  hesitated  a  moment,  even 
in  thought,  in  comparing  her  to  Kathleen,  or  to 
any  other  woman,  North  or  South.  He  was  over 
whelmingly  in  love  with  her,  and  his  direct,  pas 
sionate  gaze  brought  the  blood  to  her  cheek  and  made 
her  heart  throb  unsteadily.  There  had  been  no  time 
for  love-making  between  these  two  yet,  but  a  word, 
a  touch,  a  look,  a  whisper,  in  such  a  scene  as  they  had 
passed  through,  spoke  more  than  a  thousand  caresses 
in  more  quiet  and  less  crowded  hours. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  yourself,"  began  the  woman, 
hardly  able  to  sustain  the  passionate  intensity  of  his 
gaze. 

:'  We  must  first  discuss  this  matter  in  all  its  lights 
and  bearings.  Suppose  the  Yankees  have  already 
seized  Todd's  Tavern?  " 

"  What  would  I  better  do  then?  " 


23  2  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  Is  there  any  other  way  to  get  into  the  Brock 
Road  from  here?  " 

"  No  direct  way." 

"  Is  there  any  way  at  all?  " 

"  I  might  get  into  it  by  riding  around  ten  miles." 

"  That  would  never  do.  You  can't  go  back  to  the 
Catharpin  Road  and  then  on  so  long  as  those  fel 
lows  go  that  way." 

"  Suppose  they  go  the  other  way,  back  to  Todd's 
Tavern,  that  is?  " 

"  Well,  in  that  case  you'd  better  insist  upon  going 
with  me  and  then  we'll  trust  to  circumstances  to  make 
a  dash  for  it." 

"Very  well;  I'll  get  there  some  way,  since  it  is 
so  important  to  your  honour  and  the  safety  of  the 
army.  But  what  will  you  do?  " 

"  Ride  on  to  General  Stuart  if  I  can  escape.  If 
it  is  too  late,  then  I'll  ride  back  to  General  Lee  and 
confess  everything." 

"  What  is  there  to  confess?  " 

"  That  I  turned  aside  from  a  public  duty  in  a 
private  cause." 

"  He  will  forgive  you." 

"  I  do  not  know."' 

"How  could  he  do  otherwise?" 

"  You  don't  know  that  man.  With  him  duty  is 
everything.  There's  nothing  he  wouldn't  sacrifice, 
no  private  cause,  that  is,  for  a  public  service." 

"  I  should  have  been  dead  if  you  hadn't  come  .  . 
or  worse,"  said  Ariadne,  shuddering. 

"  I  shall  be  thankful  so  long  as  I  live  that  I  did 
come.  Whatever  happens  to  me  .  .  I  hope  to 
heaven  you  can  get  through  with  that  message !  " 

"  Philip,  did  they  tell  you  how  I  found  you  at 
York?" 

"  Yes,  after  it  was  too  late." 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  233 

"  I  got  through  both  armies  then  for  your  life. 
I'll  get  through  now  for  your  honour." 

"  May  God  preserve  you !  I  do  not  know  how  I 
was  such  a  fool  to  have  had  the  treasure  of  your 
affection,  only  to  throw  it  away." 

'  You  may  have  it  back  again,  and  welcome." 

"  I  have  searched  the  country  for  you  through 
my  agents." 

'  Why  didn't  you  come  yourself?  " 

"  I  could  not.  It  broke  my  heart,  but  I  was  needed 
in  the  army,"  said  Grafton  simply. 

"  I  understand." 

"  But  my  heart  was  with  you." 

"  And  mine  with  you,  dear."  Her  eyes  brimmed 
as  she  looked  at  him.  She  had  idealised  him  in  his 
absence,  and  she  was  glad  that  the  realisation  made 
the  ideal  seem  faint  and  weak.  "  I  waited  for  you, 
longed  for  you,"  she  continued.  "  I  never  dared  to 
believe  that  you  would  care  for  .  .  I  had  seen  that 
other  woman  .  ." 

"  I  was  blind  .  .  she  couldn't  hold  a  candle  to 
you!" 

"  I  thought  she  was     .     .     beautiful." 

"  I  did  once,  but  that  was  before  .  .  Ariadne 
.  .  do  you  know  that  you  are  the  most  beautiful 
thing  I  ever  looked  upon?  " 

The  woman  smiled.  Her  husband's  remark  was 
so  direct,  so  genuine,  so  unexpected. 

"  I  just  worship  you,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  so 
proud  of  you." 

"  When  the  war  is  over     .     .     ."  she  began. 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  wait  for  the  end  of 
the  war  before  I  claim  you?  "  he  interrupted. 

"  Oh,  but,  Philip,  you  must,"  she  replied.  "  I 
can't  realise  it.  It's  all  come  upon  me  so  suddenly. 
I  feel,  I  wish  to  be  wooed  and  won  again.  That 


234  THE    PATRIOTS 

marriage  .  .  it  was  nothing.  It  seems  to  me  there 
ought  to  be  another." 

"  Miss  'Adny,"  called  out  old  Aza  from  the  vine- 
clad  porch,  "  Aunt  Dessy  say  de  coffee  an'  bacon 
an'  hoe  cake's  ready.  She  wan'  know  wot  ter  do 
wid  hit." 

"  Serve  it  and  bring  it  here,"  answered  Ariadne. 

She  rose  from  the  rustic  bench  on  which  she  and 
Philip  had  been  seated. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  to  the  Union  officer,  "  the  coffee 
and  bacon  are  ready.  I  have  told  my  servants  to 
bring  it  out  here.  Perhaps  some  of  your  soldiers 
will  assist  them.  You  are  doubtless  in  a  hurry  to  get 
away." 

"  Two  or  three  of  you  go  in  the  house  and  bring 
out  the  gru  .  .  the  coffee  and  bacon,  I  mean,"  said 
the  officer,  flushing  at  his  mistake. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  your  name,"  continued 
Ariadne,  smiling  at  him  as  some  of  the  soldiers 
stepped  toward  the  house. 

"  Harrington,  madam,"  returned  the  young  man. 
"  William  Harrington  of  the  Second  Maine  Cav 
alry." 

"  My  name  is  Grafton.  I  do  not  believe  I  have 
thanked  you  for  your  timely  rescue.  This  is  my 
husband,  Captain  Grafton  " — she  turned  to  Philip — 
of  General  Lee's  staff." 

"  His  staff !  "  exclaimed  Harrington,  staring,  as  a 
sudden  idea  struck  him.  What  was  one  of  General 
Lee's  staff  officers  doing  there  ?  Then  his  lips  spoke 
his  thought.  Grafton  readily  answered : 

"  I  came  here  to  see  my  wife." 

"  Umph!  "  said  the  other  suspiciously;  "  you  don't 
happen  to  have  a  stray  despatch  about  you?  " 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Grafton,  and  he  thanked  God 
Lee  had  not  reduced  his  orders  to  writing. 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  235 

"No  communication  of  any  kind?"  asked  Har 
rington. 

"  No  communication  of  any  kind  about  me,"  re 
turned  Grafton  coolly. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  Harring 
ton  politely,  "  but  I  must  be  certain.  You  will  not 
object  to  being  searched?  " 

"  Search  my  husband?  "  cried  Ariadne. 

"  Captain  Harrington  means  no  indignity,  my 
dear,"  said  Grafton  cheerfully.  "  Certainly,  Cap 
tain,  you  can  search  me  at  your  pleasure,  but  you  will 
find  nothing." 

"  Because  you  have  it  so  carefully  hidden?  " 

"  Because  there  is  nothing  to  find." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  Union  officer,  "  will  you 
give  me  your  word  of  honour  as  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman,  that  you  have  no  papers  or  written  orders 
of  any  description  about  you?  " 

"  Cheerfully,"  returned  Grafton,  glad  to  be  able 
to  give  the  required  assurance.  "  Upon  my  word  of 
honour,  as  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  I  have 
no  written  orders  of  any  kind  on  my  person  in 
any  shape  or  form,  nor  have  I  had  any  for  several 
days." 

"  And  you,  madam,  have  you  any?  " 

"  None,"  answered  Ariande.  "  Would  you  like 
to  search  me?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  said  the  officer,  "  but  it  is  possible 
that  he  might  have  passed  anything  he  carried  to 
you." 

"  He  did  not,"  answered  the  young  woman.  "  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  he  did  not." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  very  military,"  said  Captain  Har 
rington,  greatly  relieved,  "  but  I  accept  your  assur 
ance.  Now  for  the  coffee." 

If  Captain  Harrington  had  pursued  his  investiga- 


236  THE    PATRIOTS 

tions  further  he  would  have  trapped  the  two.  While 
Grafton  might  have  lied,  and  lied  successfully,  to  con 
ceal  the  fact  that  he  had  been  charged  with  a  verbal 
message,  which  he  had  turned  over  to  his  wife,  in 
view  of  the  tremendous  gravity  of  the  situation,  the 
fact  that  the  fate  of  Lee's  army  and  the  Confederacy 
practically  hung  upon  the  outcome  of  the  conversa 
tion,'  and  while  Ariadne  might  have  seconded  such 
an  assertion,  it  was  morally  certain  her  invincible 
honesty  would  have  been  unable  to  sustain  a  cross- 
examination  upon  that  point.  It  was  with  a  feeling 
of  great  relief,  therefore,  that  they  heard  that  in 
quisition  terminated.  As  they  stood  together,  Ari 
adne  and  her  husband  and  Harrington  on  the  porch, 
the  soldiers  out  on  the  grass  under  the  trees  being 
served  by  the  negroes,  Grafton,  to  get  his  captor's 
mind  off  the  dangerous  subject,  told  Harrington 
something  of  his  story.  How  his  wife,  possessing 
this  little  property — a  fact,  by  the  way,  of  which  he 
had  been  ignorant,  since  she  had  received  it  from 
Mrs.  Galloway — had  gone  to  live  there  while  he 
was  in  the  army,  and  that  they  had  not  seen  each 
other  for  nearly  a  year. 

"  There  is  a  girl  up  North,"  said  Harrington, 
"  that  I  haven't  seen  for  two  years,  and  I'm  getting 
mighty  anxious  to  lay  my  eyes  on  her  again.  I  hear 
from  her  nearly  every  time  the  mail  gets  through  " — 
he  tapped  his  breast-pocket  with  a  pleasant  smile — 
"  but  that's  not  like  seeing  her.  I  wish  this  war 
would  hurry  up  and  get  finished,"  he  went  on. 
"  Well,  I  guess  we've  a  man  now  that'll  wear  you 
fellows  out." 

"I  reckon  not!"  said  Grafton  confidently. 
"  You've  been  trying  to  wear  us  out  for  three  years, 
you  know." 

"Oh,  yes,  by  fits  and  starts,"  said  Harrington; 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  237 

"but  Grant's  different.  Why,  the  night  after  the 
battle  of  the  Wilderness  you  ought  to  have  heard  the 
men  cheering  when  they  found  out  we  were  heading 
toward  Richmond  and  not  going  across  the  Rap  .  ." 

He  stopped  suddenly,  flushing  furiously.  Graf- 
ton  studiously  refrained  from  making  the  slightest 
comment  on  this  incautious  admission.  He  turned  to 
Ariadne  with  the  most  casual  remark,  as  if  he  had  not 
noticed  the  slip,  which  was  confirmation  of  General 
Lee's  information  of  the  movement  of  the  army.  So 
well  did  Grafton  play  his  part  that  Harrington  was 
convinced  that  he  had  not  noticed.  The  incident, 
however,  put  an  end  to  the  luncheon.  With  an  un 
easy  feeling  that  he  had  lingered  too  long  in  this 
pleasant  place,  the  young  officer  rose  to  his  feet  and 
assembled  his  men.  The  horse  of  one  of  the  guer 
rillas  was  assigned  to  Grafton,  whom  Harrington 
resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of  for  an  instant.  Hat  in 
hand,  he  stepped  forward  to  bid  the  young  woman 
good-bye. 

"  Take  my  advice,  madam,"  he  said,  as  he  thanked 
her  for  her  kindness  and  hospitality,  "  don't  stay  here 
longer  than  you  can.  There's  going  to  be  fighting 
here  and  it's  no  place  for  women." 

'  Thank  you  for  your  counsel,"  said  Ariadne 
graciously,  "  which  I  shall  try  to  heed.  I  shall  prob 
ably  go  away  to-morrow." 

'  To-day,  madam,  to-day !  "  said  Harrington  em 
phatically.  "  The  army  may  be  along  .  .  I  mean 
there's  no  time  for  delay." 

'*  Very  well,  sir;  I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for 
your  timely  arrival.  The  house  would  have  been 
burned  and  we  would  have  been  certainly  killed  if  you 
had  not  appeared  when  you  did." 

"  And  I  wish  to  thank  you  also,"  said  Grafton, 
"  although  you  have  captured  me." 


238  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  Will  you  say  good-bye  to  your  wife,  Captain 
Grafton?  We  must  be  moving  immediately." 

There  was  no  such  thing  as  privacy  or  secrecy  now. 
The  yard  was  full  of  soldiers  in  line.  All  that  Graf- 
ton  could  do  would  have  to  be  done  before  the  public. 
He  stepped  closer  to  her,  and  although  she  put  out 
her  hand  to  stop  him — for  Ariadne  had  prepared  for 
the  contingency  of  their  meeting  and  had  made 
certain  plans  which  unfortunately  for  her  she  could 
not  carry  out  under  these  circumstances — he  drew  her 
to  him,  kissed  her  passionately  and  whispered,  "  You 
won't  fail?  "  He  heard  her  reply,  "  Trust  me,"  and 
turned  resolutely  away. 

"  There's  your  horse,"  said  the  Union  officer;  "  I 
suppose  you  do  not  wish  to  give  your  parole?  " 

"  Under  no  circumstances,  sir!  " 

"  Very  well.  Sergeant,  detail  two  men  to  ride  on 
each  side  of  Captain  Grafton,  fastening  their  horses 
to  his  own.  Madam,  good-bye  and  good  luck  to 
you."  He  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Good-bye,  Captain  Harrington,"  said  Ariadne ; 
"  may  you  soon  see  the  girl  in  the  North.  Good-bye, 
Philip." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Grafton.  "  Shall  I  see  you  at 
the  old  house  in  Richmond?  " 

"  If  I  can  get  there,"  said  his  wife. 

"  And  if  you  can,  sir,"  laughed  Harrington.   "  I'm 

sorry   to   take   your   husband    away,    but "    He 

straightened  up,  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head. 
"Right  forward,  fours  right!"  he  cried.  "Trot! 
March!" 

Ariadne  stood  on  the  porch  watching  them  go 
across  the  yard  until  they  struck  the  road.  Would 
they  turn  to  the  north  or  to  the  south?  She  was 
greatly  relieved  when  she  saw  the  head  of  the  column 
swing  into  the  road  and  turn  to  the  south.  Another 


A   BRAVE    MESSENGER  239 

time  she  would  have  been  filled  with  sorrow  at  the 
sudden  parting  after  that  brief  but  passionate  meet 
ing,  but  now  she  had  other  objects  In  view.  She  must 
ride  to  save  Lee's  army,  to  save  the  Confederacy,  to 
save  the  honour  of  her  husband,  who  had  perilled  all 
three  to  save  her.  How  splendid  he  had  been  as  he 
dashed  up.  She  had  known  him  instantly  he  had 
stepped  on  the  porch — and  he  loved  her!  There 
was  nothing  on  earth  that  she  could  not  accomplish 
with  that  profound  assurance  in  her  soul.  He  loved 
her!  He  cared  nothing  for  that  Northern  woman. 
He  had  said  that  he  was  proud  of  her,  that  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  woman  his  eyes  had  ever  looked 
upon.  Well,  there  would  be  time  enough  to  dwell 
upon  this  later.  The  instant  the  cavalry  disappeared 
down  the  road  she  turned  to  Aza. 

"  I  want  Bonnibel,"  she  cried,  "  as  quick  as  you 
can  get  her.  My  revolver!  Load  it,  tie  a  cloak  on 
the  saddle.  A  canteen,  something  to  eat,  a  flask  of 
whiskey!  Aunt  Dessy,  help  me  with  my  riding 
things.  Everything  on  earth,  life  and  love  and 
honour,  the  Confederate  cause,  all  depend  upon  me 
now!  " 

"  Gawd  a'mighty !  "  cried  old  Aza,  turning  obedi 
ently,  "  is  you  gwine  to  suppote  'em  all?  " 

'  You  kin  do  hit,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Dessy,  survey 
ing  her  charge,  "  you  kin  do  hit.  You  got  beauty,  an' 
de  strength  an'  de  cur'ge  dat'll  match  agin  de  whole 
er  de  Norf." 

Ten  minutes  later  Ariadne,  equipped  for  riding, 
came  out  on  the  porch  where  Aza  had  the  horse 
ready  for  her. 

"  Stay  in  the  house,"  she  said  to  the  faithful  serv 
ants,  "  and  protect  it  as  long  as  you  can.  I  shall  come 
back  to  you,  if  I  can.  If  I  do  not,  I  shall  go  on  to 
the  old  place  in  Richmond.  If  the  house  is  not 


240  THE    PATRIOTS 

destroyed  by  the  Yankees,  stay  here  until  I  come  for 
you.  If  it  is,  try  to  get  to  Richmond  and  the  old 
house.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Yas,  Miss  'Adny,"  said  Aza. 

"  Gawd  bless  you,  honey,"  cried  Aunt  Dessy,  lift 
ing  her  arms  and  taking  the  girl  to  her  breast.  Gawd 
bless  'n  spar'  you  fer  Marse  Phil!  Ain't  I  glad  he 
cum  back  to  lub  you !  " 

Ariadne  swung  herself  into  the  saddle,  called  to 
Bonnibel  and  cantered  up  the  road  upon  her  tre 
mendous  errand. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE     RISK     IN     THE     RUSE 

BONNIBEL,  a  handsome  gray  mare,  was  in  fine 
fettle.  Like  the  well-bred  horse  she  was,  she  was 
eager  to  go,  but  her  mistress  was  too  good  a  horse 
woman,  she  had  too  vivid  an  appreciation  of  the  de 
mands  that  she  might  have  to  meet  later  on,  to  give 
her  mare  her  head.  The  fate  of  the  Confederacy, 
and  her  husband's  honour,  depended  upon  her  that 
night,  and  she  must  depend  upon  the  horse.  When 
the  time  came  Bonnibel  would  be  ridden  unsparingly, 
if  necessary — but  now  Ariadne  kept  her  down  to  a 
long  easy  canter  which  carried  her  up  the  winding 
road  at  a  rapid  pace. 

Although  Ariadne  had  displayed  a  marvellous  apti 
tude  in  comprehending  the  military  exigencies  of  the 
situation  she  sought  to  relieve,  she  was  a  woman,  not 
a  soldier.  She  had  not  learned  the  extreme  necessity 
of  vigilance  in  such  undertakings  through  years  of 
experience,  and  she  therefore  neglected  precautions 
which  a  veteran  scout  would  not  have  failed  to  ob 
serve.  She  did  not  stop  at  each  turn  and  reconnoitre, 
for  instance,  but  raced  along  rapidly,  intent  only 
upon  her  arrival  at  her  goal  and  the  delivery  of  her 
message.  Outwardly  intent,  that  is.  Inwardly  she 
was  thinking  of  other  things. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  so  happy.  Philip 
had  found  her  and  she  had  found  his  heart.  He 
loved  her.  Nothing  else  in  the  heavens  above,  or  in 
the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth, 
could  her  thoughts  have  been  projected  in  either 

241 


242  THE    PATRIOTS 

direction,  mattered.  Philip  loved  her!  The  impos 
sible  had  come  to  pass.  He  had  saved  her  from  the 
most  horrible  of  fates,  to  do  which  he  had  risked 
everything  that  men  hold  dear.  It  was  not  by  word 
of  mouth  alone,  therefore,  that  she  knew  how  abso 
lutely  she  possessed  her  husband's  heart. 

With  what  intensity  of  passion  she  had  waited  for 
him,  longed  for  his  presence,  during  those  months  in 
which  she  had  fled  from  him!  She  had  known,  of 
course,  that  he  would  seek  her,  and  she  had  wondered 
in  what  spirit  he  would  meet  her,  whether  with  re 
proach,  reproof,  appeal,  or  resentment,  or — but  he 
loved  her!  She  had  never  dreamed  of  that.  His 
passion  for  her  matched  hers  for  him.  She  could 
read  the  signs  by  intuition — by  observation  of  herself 
she  had  learned  to  know.  She  was  sure  of  his  love, 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Her  heart  sang,  her 
pulses  throbbed  as  she  rode  swiftly  over  the  winding 
path. 

And  there  was  sweetness  almost  beyond  under 
standing  in  the  fact  that  she  was  now  doing  something 
for  him.  Not  only  did  he  love  her,  but  he  was  de 
pending  upon  her.  She  was  necessary  to  him.  Not 
merely  necessary  to  his  happiness,  but  to  his  honour 
— perhaps  to  his  very  life.  She  was  riding  for  him 
and  for  the  cause  that,  next  to  him,  she  loved  above 
everything  else.  Although  every  moment  put  dis 
tance  between  them,  and  she  felt  that  she  never  wished 
to  be  parted  from  him  again,  she  rode,  the  Kapprest 
girl  in  the  Southern  Confederacy. 

The  road  was  a  very  crooked  one,  simply  a  tenu 
ous  line  through  the  wilderness,  of  which  there  were 
many  to  bring  scattered  clearings  in  touch  with  the 
great  highways.  It  zigzagged  through  the  woods  in 
the  most  erratic  fashion,  to  take  in  every  wayside  hut 
that  desired  connection  with  the  main  travelled  roads. 


THE    RISK   IN    THE    RUSE         243 

Little  branch  paths  just  wide  enough  for  a  wagon  to 
pass  through  meandered  off  at  intervals,  ending  no 
where. 

Ariadne  had  often  travelled  this  road  to  Todd's 
Tavern  on  her  way  to  the  Piney  Branch  Church, 
which  she  sometimes  attended.  She  was  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  it  and  needed  to  give  it  no  particular 
attention.  It  would  be  time  enough  for  her  to  worry, 
she  fancied,  when  she  reached  the  tavern.  She  was 
more  and  more  absorbed  and  entranced  in  her  own 
thoughts,  and  there  never  was  a  more  surprised 
woman  than  she  when  a  sharp  voice  bade  her  halt. 
At  the  same  instant  a  man  carrying  a  shining  rifle 
sprang  out  of  the  underbrush,  presenting  his  piece 
full  at  her  breast. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  ride  him  down.  She 
raised  the  whip  she  carried,  but  before  it  fell  another 
man  scrambled  through  the  coppice  on  the  opposite 
side.  He,  too,  presented  his  piece  threateningly. 
The  first  man  cried  loudly: 

"All  right,  Captain;  it's  only  a  woman." 

An  instant  after  the  road  was  filled  with  men  on 
horses.  Ariadne  had  thrown  Bonnibel  violently 
back  on  her  haunches  when  she  saw  the  impossibility 
of  escape  before  her.  Quick  as  a  flash  as  the  road 
filled  with  the  men  she  wheeled  the  mare  for  a  dash 
back,  and  this  time  the  whip  fell,  but  a  resolute  hand 
had  already  grasped  the  bridle.  In  her  excitement, 
with  difficulty  keeping  her  seat  on  the  plunging  mare, 
Ariadne  struck  at  the  man  with  her  whip.  Her  ef 
fort  was  futile,  of  course,  for  the  man  caught  the 
whip  and  wrenched  it  from  her  hand. 

"  It's  no  use,  madam;  whoa  .  .  damn  you !  "  he 
cried,  dividing  his  attention  impartially  between  the 
rider  and  the  horse.  "  We've  got  you." 

"  Who  is  it,  Corporal?  "  asked  a  tall  bearded  man 


244  THE    PATRIOTS 

spurring  through  the  press  until  he  confronted  the 
woman.  Instantly  his  hat  came  off. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he  said,  "  but  we 
must  know  who  you  are  and  your  business." 

Ariadne  looked  at  him  with  the  deepest  interest. 
She  was  dismayed  beyond  measure  at  being  thus 
checked  at  the  very  outstart  of  her  journey.  She 
realised  that  she  should  have  been  more  careful. 
She  recognised,  too  late,  that  she  should  have  given 
more  thought  to  her  errand  and  less  to  her  own  affec 
tions.  As  her  peril  had  been  Philip's  undoing,  so  his 
love  had  like  to  be  hers.  Also,  what  answer  to  make 
to  this  question  did  not  immediately  occur  to  her. 

The  men  were  nondescript  as  to  uniform.  Some 
of  them  wore  the  regulation  uniform  of  United  States 
soldiers,  infantry,  artillery,  cavalry,  although  they 
were  all  mounted.  A  few  of  them — and  these  the 
most  dilapidated — had  on  grey  jackets.  The  officer 
who  was  addressing  her  was  shrouded  from  head  to 
foot  in  a  blue  military  cape,  although  the  evening  was 
extremely  warm.  Were  they  her  people  or  did  they 
belong  to  the  enemy?  Before  she  answered  Ariadne 
studied  the  faces  of  the  men  who  had  closed  around 
her,  and  they  did  not  look  like  Northern  men. 

"  Which  side  do  you  belong  to?  "  she  asked,  in  turn 
hoping  for  a  clue. 

This  was  something  of  a  poser,  and  it  was  the  cap 
tain's  turn  to  hesitate. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the  voice  sounded 
Southern  to  her,  although  she  could  not  be  sure,  "  an 
swer  me  a  few  questions  and  I'll  tell  you.  Where 
do  you  live?  " 

There  was  no  reason  for  concealing  that  fact, 
thought  Ariadne,  so  she  promptly  replied. 

"  Back  a  mile  or  so  down  the  road  in  a  little  cot 
tage." 


THE    RISK   IN    THE    RUSE         245 

"  Are  you  a  Virginian?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Are  you  for  the  North  or  South?  " 

Now  that  was  a  strange  question,  but  some  Vir 
ginians  were  for  the  North,  and  the  secret  service  of 
either  army  employed  a  good  many  women  agents, 
who  were  less  liable  to  suspicion  than  men. 

"  For  the  South !  "  answered  Ariadne  instantly. 
There  was  such  a  ring  of  sincerity  in  her  voice  that 
the  officer  was  more  than  half  convinced.  He  ques 
tioned  her  further,  however. 

'  Will  you  tell  me  your  name?  " 

"  My  name "    Ariadne  hesitated.     "  Lewis," 

she  said  at  last. 

"  Are  you  related  to  Judge  Lewis  of  Prince  George 
County?" 

"  I  was.  He  is  dead,  you  know.  I  am  his  grand 
daughter." 

This  admission  would  have  been  very  damaging 
had  the  captain  belonged  to  the  other  side,  but 
Ariadne  had  shrewdly  studied  the  faces  of  the  cap 
tors  and  she  was  at  last  convinced  that  they  were 
Southerners.  Besides,  when  it  came  to  a  point  of 
that  kind  Ariadne  was  incapable  of  lying.  Indeed, 
she  had  answered  the  first  question  impulsively,  and 
she  had  to  go  on  telling  the  truth.  Fortune  was  with 
her. 

"  We  are  for  the  South,  too,  madam,"  said  the 
officer.  "  My  name  is  Elson,  Captain  Elson." 

4  You  relieve  me  greatly,"  said  Ariadne.  "  I  am 
delighted  to  me  meet  you,  sir.  But  those  blue  uni 
forms?" 

"  We  got  them  from  some  Yanks  who  won't  need 
any  other  covering  than  Mother  Earth  from  now 
on,"  said  the  captain.  "  Our  army  is  so  destitute  of 
everything  that  we  are  forced  to  live  off  the  enemy." 


246  THE    PATRIOTS 

He  smiled.  "  We  are  doing  it,  too.  See !  "  He 
throw  off  the  heavy  cloak  which  was  so  oppressive 
in  the  warm  weather,  and  Ariadne  saw  his  own  uni 
form  of  worn  Confederate  grey.  "  I  shall  not  need 
this  for  a  space,"  continued  the  officer.  "  When  we 
heard  your  horse  thundering  down  the  road  we  didn't 
know  what  was  coming,  and  we  laid  a  trap  for  you. 
You  were  making  enough  noise  for  a  troop  of 
cavalry." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ariadne;  "  I  forgot.  I  have  much 
to  learn  before  I  can  be  a  soldier." 

The  captain  laughed  again. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  but  the  idea  is  so 
absurd." 

"  Yet  I  am  charged  with  a  vital  message,"  said 
Ariadne  gravely.  "  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  now." 
She  was  dead  sure  of  her  position  by  this  time.  In 
fact  she  remembered  to  have  heard  of  the  Elson 
family.  "  My  name  is  Grafton." 

"  But  you  said  Lewis." 

"  That  was  my  maiden  name.  I  am  married  to 
Captain  Grafton1,  .  .  ."  she  stopped.  "  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  him?  " 

"  I  know  a  Philip  Grafton  on  General  Lee's 
staff." 

"  He  is  my  husband,"  said  Ariadne  promptly. 

"  Madam,  I  am  more  than  pleased  to  meet  you 
now  and  beg  your  forgiveness  for  the  detention." 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Ariadne;  "  my  husband  was 
riding  with  important  orders  from  General  Lee  to 
General  Stuart.  He  was  captured  by  a  squad  of 
Federal  cavalry.  They  didn't  think  it  necessary  to 
take  me  with  them.  My  husband  managed  to  give 
me  his  orders  and  I'm  riding  to  find  General  Stuart." 

11  Where  do  you  expect  to  find  him  ?  "  asked  Cap 
tain  Elson. 


THE    RISK    IN    THE    RUSE         247 

"At  Todd's  Tavern." 

"  You  won't  find  him  there.     The  Yanks  are  there 
in  force.     We're    a    scouting   party    from    Early's 
corps — that  was  Hill's.     We  have  been  sent  to  find 
a  practicable  way  to  reach  the  Catharpin  Road." 

"  This  road  here,"  said  Ariadne,  "  will  take  you 
directly  to  it." 

"  Are  there  any  Federal  troops  down  that  way?  " 

"  Only  a  scouting  party,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"The  one  that  captured  your  husband?" 

"  Yes." 

"  The  Catharpin  Road  leads  into  the  Brock  Road 
at  Todd's  Tavern,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  they  will  have  sent  detachments  down 
it  also?  * 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Ariadne. 

"  They  won't  be  in  great  force,  however,"  com 
mented  Captain  Elson.  "  The  only  troops  at  Todd's 
Tavern  are  Yankee  cavalry.  So  far  as  I  can  learn 
the  Federal  infantry  hasn't  come  up  yet." 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  now?  "  asked  Ariadne. 

"  Nothing.  I  can  depend  upon  this  information 
you  have  given  me  ?  " 

"Absolutely.     Can  I  depend  upon  you?" 

"  With  the  greatest  confidence,  madam,"  said  the 
captain.  "What  do  you  intend  to  do?"  he  asked 
in  turn. 

"  I  must  get  to  General  Stuart.  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"  Back  to  General  Early  to  report  the  practica 
bility  of  this  road,  immediately.  Unless  I  can  serve 
you." 

'  Thank  you,"  said  the  young  woman,  who  had 
been  thinking  hard,  but  without  seeing  any  light,  "you 
see  there  is  no  way  to  get  into  the  Brock  Road  down 


248  THE    PATRIOTS 

which  General  Stuart  has  probably  retreated  except 
by  way  of  Todd's  Tavern,  unless  I  should  go  back 
with  you  and  take  a  wide  circle  around  to  the  north 
and  get  on  the  Piney  Branch  Road." 

"  In  which  case  you  would  inevitably  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  of  the  marching  Yanks." 

"  Exactly.  Therefore  I  must  break  through  at 
Todd's  Tavern  somehow." 

"  Is  there  any  road  that  leads  off  to  the  east 
ward?" 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  and  if  there  were  it  would 
stop  at  the  Catharpin  Road  and  so  take  me  to  the 
tavern  in  the  same  way." 

"  You'll  have  to  give  it  up,  I  fear." 

"I  cannot!" 

"  How  are  you  going  to  get  through  then?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  how,  but  I  must  get  through 
some  way." 

"  May  I  ask  what  the  orders  are  you  have  for 
General  Stuart?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  sir,"  said 
Ariadne  doubtfully.  "  If  you  could  get  through 
yourself,  or  you  would  be  willing  to  make  the  at 
tempt,  or  should  take  the  responsibility  .  .  ." 

"  It's  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  try  it,"  re 
turned  Captain  Elson;  "  I  must  get  back  to  General 
Early  as  soon  as  possible.  Have  you  written 
orders?  " 

"  No,  they  are  verbal." 

"  Because  if  they  were  written  I  was  going  to 
suggest  that  you  destroy  them  after  committing 
them  to  memory  before  you  approach  the  Union 
lines." 

"  I  should  have  done  that,  but  the  orders  are  not 
written." 

"  I  can  guess,"  said  Elson,  "  that  General  Lee 


THE    RISK   IN   THE    RUSE         249 

orders  General  Stuart  to  hold  the  Union  forces  back 
until  he  reaches  Spottsylvania  Court  House." 

"  You  can  guess  all  you  wish,"  said  Ariadne,  smil 
ing  pleasantly,  "  and  if  your  guess  is  correct,  you  can 
see  the  importance  of  my  getting  through." 

"  I  see,"  returned  the  captain,  delighted  with  his 
own  acumen.  "  Well,  what  do  you  propose  and  how 
can  I  help  you." 

A  plan  had  come  to  Ariadne  while  they  had  been 
talking,  a  forlorn  hope,  but  the  only  one  that  prom 
ised  any  success  at  all. 

"  I  would  like  you  to  ride  with  me  as  near  to  the 
Union  lines  as  possible,"  she  began,  "  and  then  let 
me  get  ahead  of  you  a  short  distance.  Then  you 
and  your  men  can  chase  me  into  the  Union  lines. 
Fire  and  make  as  much  noise  as  you  wish,  but  don't 
hit  me,  if  you  can  help  it.  I'll  pose  as  a  Northern 
woman  seized  by  Confederate  troops  and  get  per 
mission  from  the  commanding  officer  to  go  to  my 
home  near  the  Piney  Branch  Church.  There  is  a 
short  cut  that  leads  from  the  Piney  Branch  Road 
about  a  mile  above  Todd's  Tavern  straight  into  the 
Brock  Road  a  mile  below  it.  I  will  take  that  road, 
which  will  put  me  in  advance  of  the  Union  troops 
and  so  get  to  Stuart." 

"  It's  a  good  plan,"  said  Captain  Elson,  "  but 
risky." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  to  make  the  pursuit  a  success 
ful  one  we  will  have  to  approach  near  the  Federal 
lines  and  some  one  is  pretty  sure  to  get  hurt." 

"  Oh,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Ariadne,  dis 
mayed. 

11  It's  part  of  a  soldier's  life,  madam,  to  risk  things. 
I  take  it  your  orders  are  of  sufficient  importance  to 
justify  me  in  hazarding  my  men," 


250  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  They  are.  You  may  not  take  my  woman's  word 
for  it  .  .  I  mean  you  might  think  I  am  not  capa 
ble  of  judging  .  .  but  my  husband  said  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  they  must  be,"  interrupted  Captain 
Elson,  who  had  divined  them  all,  "  and  I  will  take 
the  risk." 

"Thank  you.  Let  us  ride  on?"  said  Ariadne; 
"it's  getting  late." 

The  captain  turned  to  his  men. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "this  lady  is  the  wife  of  an 
officer  on  General  Lee's  staff.  Her  husband  was 
carrying  important  orders  from  General  Lee  to  Gen 
eral  Stuart  when  he  was  captured.  His  wife  volun 
teered  to  carry  the  orders.  She  is  to  pass  through 
the  Union  lines  to  Todd's  Tavern.  She  will  pose 
as  a  Union  woman.  We're  going  to  help  her  out  in 
her  deception  by  giving  chase  to  her  when  near 
enough  to  make  it  interesting.  I  wish  you  to  make 
as  much  noise  as  possible,  yell,  shoot,  but  be  careful 
not  to  hit  the  lady.  Go  as  close  to  the  line  as  pos 
sible,  but  keep  your  horses  well  in  hand,  and  at  my 
signal^I  shall  be  in  the  lead — wheel  and  ride  back 
for  your  lives.  If  I  fall,  if  any  of  us  fall,  the  sur 
vivors  will  join  General  Early  and  report  the 
practicability  of  the  road.  Do  you  understand?" 

They  were  veteran  soldiers,  and  their  faces  lighted 
with  pleasure  as  they  took  in  the  daring  ruse.  A 
shout  of  acquiescence  came  from  their  bearded  lips. 
One  old  sergeant,  he  who  had  seized  Ariadne's 
horse,  spoke  for  his  comrades. 

"  We  understand,  Cap'n,  but  I  would  like  to  ax 
you  one  question,  sir,  if  I  mought  be  so  bold." 

;'What  is  it?" 

"  We're  not  to  shoot  at  the  leddy  .  .  God 
bless  her  .  .  but  you  wouldn't  mind  ef  we 
plugged  a  few  of  them  Yanks  with  lead,  would  you?  " 


THE    RISK    IN    THE    RUSE          251 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  captain,  smiling;  "  that'll 
make  the  affair  more  real." 

Ariadne  shuddered  at  the  evident  relish  with 
which  these  men  received  that  word  of  their  captain. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  no  one  will  be  shot!  "  she  saia. 

"  I  hope  none  of  our  men  will,"  said  Elson,  mo 
tioning  her  forward  and  with  her  leading  the  way. 

An  hour's  riding  brought  them  to  the  turn  of  the 
road,  half  a  mile  beyond  which  lay  the  Union  lines. 
Elson  and  Ariadne  rode  forward  until  they  had  a 
fair  view  of  the  situation.  The  Union  cavalry,  save 
for  some  picket  guards  on  the  road,  had  dismounted 
and  the  men  were  evidently  preparing  supper.  It 
was  by  this  time  about  six  o'clock. 

"  Everything  is  favourable,"  said  Captain  Elson. 
"  Now  you  stay  where  you  are.  I  will  ride  back 
and  tell  the  men.  When  you  hear  a  pistol  shot  be 
hind  you  ride  like  mad  straight  down  the  road. 
Don't  look  back  or  draw  rein  for  anything.  We'll 
do  the  rest.  Remember  if  the  thing  is  to  be  carried 
out  safely  you  must  go  at  the  best  speed  of  your 
horse." 

"  I  shall  remember.  You  have  been  very  good  to 
me.  If  you  .  .  if  I  get  through  I  shall  tell  your 
general  what  you  did.  Good-bye." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  him.  He  took  it  in  his 
own. 

"  For  the  sake  of  a  girl  down  South,"  he  said 
gallantly,  bending  over  it  and  kissing  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  HEAVY  PRICE 

THE  Confederate  bowed  gracefully  to  her,  wheeled 
his  horse  and  galloped  back  toward  his  men.  She 
watched  him  a  moment  as  he  disappeared  through 
the  trees,  and  then,  gathering  her  reins  in  her  hand, 
with  a  wildly-beating  heart  she  waited.  Presently 
she  heard  a  shot  from  the  woods  behind  her.  In 
stantly  she  spoke  to  Bonnibel.  The  mare  sprang 
forward  at  the  sound  of  her  mistress'  voice.  Glad 
was  Ariadne  that  she  had  saved  her  during  the  after 
noon.  Happy  was  Bonnibel  at  being  given  freedom 
to  do  her  best.  Like  a  brown  arrow  she  leaped  for 
ward,  and  in  a  few  seconds  she  was  running  at  full 
speed  along  the  road. 

Ariadne  cast  one  quick  glance  backward  and  there 
behind  her,  a  short  distance  away,  thundered  the 
squadron.  It  was  spread  out  in  a  long  line,  by  Elson's 
prearrangement,  of  course,  as  if  the  chase  had  been  a 
hot  one.  The  wind  blew  swiftly  by  her  ears,  but  she 
caught  the  sound  of  yells  and  heard  the  crack  of 
shots.  Sometimes  the  dust  flicked  up  on  either  side 
of  her.  There  was  something  fearfully  real  about 
the  situation  which  made  Ariadne's  heart  beat  faster 
and  her  cheek  pale.  Suppose  one  of  those  men  in 
his  excitement  should  make  a  mistake  and  a  bullet 
should  strike  her?  But  she  could  not  give  much 
thought  to  this;  another  peril  suddenly  confronted 
her — a  peril  that  the  captain  had  realised,  but  which 
he  had  in  mercy  withheld  from  Ariadne. 

252 


A   HEAVY    PRICE  253 

The  Union  picket  on  the  road  had  heard  the  first 
shot  and  had  instantly  given  the  alarm  by  firing  his 
carbine.  He  fired  it  straight  in  the  direction  of 
Ariadne,  too.  A  bullet  whizzed  past  her  ear.  The 
sentry  was  a  bold  one,  for  instead  of  riding  to  join 
the  main  guard,  posted  halfway  between  the  line 
and  the  picket,  she  could  see  him  lower  the  carbine 
and  jam  another  cartridge  in  it.  One  or  two  of  her 
pursuers  were  armed  with  long-range  rifles.  The 
sentry  discharged  his  piece  again.  He  was  not 
shooting  at  Ariadne — it  was  obvious  to  him  that  she 
was  trying  to  escape — but  was  gallantly  trying  to 
stop  her  pursuers.  The  range  was  too  long  for  the 
cavalry  weapon  and  the  sentry  hit  no  one.  He 
wheeled  his  horse  to  fly  and  suddenly  pitched  for 
ward  in  the  saddle  before  the  eyes  of  the  woman  who 
was  approaching  him  at  a  furious  gallop.  He  had 
been  shot  dead.  The  main  guard  by  this  time  were 
in  the  saddle  and  racing  forward  to  meet  the  onrush. 
Back  of  them  in  the  Union  line  bugles  were  shrilling, 
men  were  running  to  and  fro. 

With  every  second  the  distance  between  the  two 
bodies  of  troops,  with  Ariadne  in  the  middle,  was 
decreasing.  Now  they  were  both  firing  rapidly. 
How  could  she  hope  to  escape  in  that  cross  fire? 
She  would  have  turned  to  the  right  and  left,  but 
the  road  prevented.  She  bent  her  head  low  over  Bon- 
nibel  and  with  a  swift  but  fervent  prayer  rode  des 
perately  on.  She  would  be  killed,  she  knew,  but  it 
would  be  in  Philip's  service — and  the  Confederacy's. 
And  he  loved  her  1  She  was  almost  in  touch  with  the 
Union  picket  now;  they  were  trotting  rapidly  for 
ward.  Remembering  her  plot,  she  instantly  raised 
her  head  and  screamed: 

"  I  am  a  Union  woman,  escaping.     Help !  " 

The  sergeant  in  command    nodded,    the    ranks 


254  THE    PATRIOTS 

opened  and  she  ran  through.  The  greater  part  of 
her  peril  was  over.  Instinctively  she  checked  the 
speed  of  Bonnibel  and  turned  to  look.  The  two 
bodies  of  cavalry,  the  Union  detachment  being  out 
numbered  two  to  one,  had  met  with  a  terrific  smash 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  The  Federals,  uncon 
scious  of  what  might  be  coming  on  behind  the  Con 
federate  troop,  were  being  deliberately  sacrificed  in 
order  to  give  the  supporting  battalions  already 
starting  from  the  Union  line  time  to  form  to  resist 
what  might  be  an  attack  in  force. 

The  Confederates  fell  on  them  like  a  storm. 
There  was  a  tremendous  melee,  in  which  the  clouds 
of  dust  flicked  up  in  the  road  by  the  horses  were  shot 
with  fire  and  smoke ;  out  of  which  came  yells,  cheers, 
shrieks,  and  pistol  shots,  with  the  ringing,  gritting 
sound  of  sabre  on  sabre.  Ariadne  came  to  a  dead 
stop,  appalled. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  moments.  The  Union 
troops  were  cut  down  or  beaten  back.  A  few  help 
less  figures,  bleeding  from  wounds,  were  carried  to 
the  rear  by  their  horses.  Others  lay  on  the  road 
trampled  by  the  terrified  horses  running  aimlessly 
about.  The  Union  troops  from  the  tavern  were 
coming  up  on  a  gallop.  The  Confederates,  in 
obedience  to  some  command,  were  retreating  as  rap 
idly  as  they  had  come. 

In  the  rear,  with  a  man  supporting  him  on  either 
side,  Ariadne  could  see  a  big  black  horse,  which  she 
recognised  as  Elson's,  bearing  the  body  of  the  cap 
tain,  which  lay  limply  upon  the  pommel  of  the 
saddle.  There  had  been  risk  in  the  ruse.  He  had 
paid  for  the  bit  of  realism  with  his  life.  His  men 
were  carrying  his  body  with  his  report  to  his  general. 
A  moment  since  he  had  kissed  her  hand  for  the  sake 
of  a  girl  in  the  South.  Ariadne's  temptation  was  to 


A   HEAVY    PRICE  255 

turn  and  race  after  him.  Her  hand  went  to  her 
breast,  she  choked  down  a  sob. 

She  had  backed  her  horse  as  far  into  the  under 
brush  by  the  side  of  the  way  as  she  could.  In  the 
meantime  the  cheering  men  in  blue  went  racing  past 
her  in  chase  of  the  Confederates.  It  would  have 
gone  hard  for  the  Confederates  had  not  the  Union 
cavalry  been  recalled  after  a  time  by  the  brigadier, 
who  presently  rode  up  to  where  Ariadne  sat  her 
horse,  pale  as  death,  her  bosom  heaving,  her  lips 
dry,  a  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes,  and  asked  what  was 
the  explanation  of  it  all. 

This  indeed  was  real  war,  such  as  this  woman  had 
not  before  experienced  or  imagined.  She  had  not 
dreamed  of  anything  like  this.  This  was  what 
Philip  indulged  in  every  day;  the  thought  of  that 
soldier  who  loved  her  aided  her  in  her  resolution. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  general,  "  can  you  explain 
this  .  .  but  you  are  wounded !  " 

"Wounded?" 

"Yes,  in  the  arm." 

Ariadne  looked  down  at  her  arm.  Blood  was  on 
her  sleeve.  Some  bullet  from  one  side  or  the  other 
had  grazed  that  arm  and  she  had  never  felt  it. 

"  Allow  me,"  said  the  officer,  lifting  her  arm;  "  it 
is  only  a  scratch,"  he  went  on  reassuringly.  "  Have 
you  a  handkerchief?  " 

Ariadne  did  not  answer.  She  was  incapable  of 
speech  for  the  moment.  The  sight  of  blood,  her 
own  blood,  sickened  her. 

"  Here,"  said  the  general,  proffering  her  a  flask, 
"  take  a  swallow  of  this." 

He  tore  the  thin  sleeve,  and,  producing  his  own 
handkerchief,  bound  it  tightly  around  the  bloody 
streak  that  showed  upon  the  tender  surface.  Ariadne 
with  difficulty  took  a  swallow  of  the  whiskey,  but  it 


THE    PATRIOTS 

was  not  easy  for  her  to  speak  even  then,  though  she 
summoned  all  her  courage  to  reply  to>  the  officer. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  explain  now,"  he  said  once 
more. 

"  I  am  a  Northern  woman,  sir.  The  Confed 
erates  are  approaching  from  the  south,  I  learned.  I 
live  down  near  where  this  road  joins  the  Catharpin 
Road,  and  I  am  going  to  the  residence  of  a  friend  of 
mine  at  Piney  Branch  Church.  Those  Rebels,  who 
were  scouting  the  country,  took  me  prisoner.  They 
didn't  guard  me  very  well,  and  when  I  saw  your 
camp  through  the  trees  I  made  a  dash  to  escape." 

"  Well,  you  are  either  a  very  foolish  woman  or  a 
very  brave  one.  You  will  pardon  my  frankness,  I 
am  sure,"  said  the  general.  "  My  name  is  Manning. 
I  command  this  brigade." 

Ariadne  started  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 
There  had  been  something  in  his  appearance  that 
had  been  familiar  to  her.  She  knew  that  he  had  been 
a  lieutenant-colonel  of  infantry  at  Gettysburg.  She 
had  not  heard  that  he  had  been  promoted  successively 
to  colonel  and  brigadier-general  and  had  been  as 
signed  to  the  cavalry  for  this  campaign.  She  had 
seen  Manning's  picture  many  times  at  the  farm 
house,  but  he  had  not  worn  a  beard  when  it  was 
taken.  For  a  moment  she  thought  of  telling  him 
everything  and  appealing  to  him,  but  a  second 
thought  convinced  her  that  it  would  be  the  height  of 
foolishness,  for  Manning  would  inevitably  detain 
her  if  the  slightest  suspicion  were  awakened  in  his 
mind  that  she  were  not  heart  and  soul  for  the  North, 
and  she  knew  that  he  knew  that  the  wife  of  Grafton 
must  be  Southern  through  and  through.  Therefore 
when  he  spoke  to  her  again  and  asked  her  name  her 
answer  was  that  it  was  Lewis.  It  was  indeed  her 
maiden  name,  but  he  had  never  heard  it. 


A   HEAVY    PRICE  257 

"  Well,  Miss  Lewis,"  he  continued,  taking  for 
granted  that  so  young  a  woman  would  naturally  be 
unmarried,  "  you  have  certainly  shown  that  you  pos 
sess  plenty  of  pluck,  and  devotion  to  the  cause  as 
well,  by  risking  your  life  to  get  away  from  our 
friends,  the  Confederates.  How  you  escaped  I  don't 
see.  I  saw  you  plainly;  you  were  between  two  fires, 
and  you  are  lucky  to  have  got  off  with  only  this. 
How  does  it  feel?  " 

He  pointed  to  her  wounded  arm,  her  left  arm, 
fortunately. 

"It  .  .  it  hurts  a  little,"  answered  Ariadne, 
"  but  not  much.  I  didn't  feel  it  until  you  spoke  and 
I  saw  the  blood." 

"  There's  many  a  wound  that  is  not  felt,"  said  the 
general,  "until  the  blood  is  seen,  but  that  in  your 
arm  fortunately  is  superficial.  One  of  my  surgeons 
will  bind  it  up  and  beyond  a  day  or  two's  inconven 
ience  and  some  slight  annoyance  you  will  take  no 
hurt  from  it.  Now,  what  further  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  Nothing  but  let  me  get  through  your  lines  to 
Piney  Branch  Church." 

"  You  will  find  our  troops  on  that  road  and  may 
have  difficulty  in  getting  through." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Ariadne,  "  my  mother  is  there 
and  .  .  ." 

She  was  astonished  at  the  fluency  with  which  she 
could  tell  this  shocking  untruth,  and  dismayed  as 
well.  It  seemed  so  base  in  her  deliberately  to  take 
advantage  of  the  confidence  of  the  Union  general, 
who  was  moreover  the  husband  of  the  woman  for 
whom  she  now  felt  pity,  almost  affection,  since  Philip 
did  not  love  her.  Well  she  had  earned  the  confi 
dence  of  that  Northern  general  by  her  tremendous 
exploit  of  a  few  moments  before. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Manning,  "I  will  give  you  a 


258  THE    PATRIOTS 

note  which  you  can  present,  if  you  are  stopped  by 
any  troops  you  may  come  across,  which  will  enable 
you  to  get  to  the  church,  undoubtedly." 

While  they  were  speaking  the  Union  cavalry  re 
turning  from  the  pursuit  began  to  defile  past  them. 
A  man  in  the  rear  battalion  was  leading  a  great  black 
horse.  Upon  it  lay  a  grey-jacketed  figure. 

"What  have  you  there?"  asked  the  general,  as 
the  troops  approached  him  and  Ariadne.  "  See  what 
it  is,  Fiske,"  he  said  to  a  staff  officer  who  had  accom 
panied  him.  The  men  had  halted  at  the  general's 
word.  Lieutenant  Fiske  rode  forward  and  returned 
in  a  moment. 

"  It's  the  body  of  the  Rebel  captain,  sir.  He  was 
evidently  killed  in  the  melee  and  his  men  tried  to 
take  him  with  them.  The  men  say  that  two  troopers 
who  were  with  him  fought  like  tigers  before  they 
were  killed." 

"  Is  the  captain  dead,  you  say?"  asked  Ariadne. 

1  Yes,  madam,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

Ariadne  shuddered.  Fifteen  minutes  before  he 
had  kissed  her  hand  "  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  down 
South."  She  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  the  situa 
tion,  yet  something — that  nervous  reserve  of  power 
and  strength  which  even  the  weakest  woman  seems 
to  have  at  command  when  the  emergency  arises — 
came  to  her  assistance.  She  had  played  a  part  so 
far,  and  to  play  it  had  cost  the  lives  of  many  brave 
men.  To  give  way  now,  to  break  down,  would  make 
the  sacrifice  vain.  She  locked  her  teeth  together  and 
stared  ahead.  The  general  spoke  to  her. 

"  Did  you  know  this  man?  " 

"He  told  me  his  name  was  Elson,"  said  Ariadne; 
"  I  had  never  seen  him  until  they  captured  me  on 
the  road." 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Manning;  "that  was  a  gal- 


A   HEAVY    PRICE  259 

lant  charge  on  our  line.  I  wish  it  had  been  for  a 
nobler  purpose  than  the  pursuit -of  a  woman." 

Here  again  Ariadne  did  not  have  power  to  speak. 
One  word  would  have  cleared  the  dead  man's  mem 
ory.  He  had  not  been  pursuing  a-  woman.  He  was 
risking  his  life  to  save  the  army  and  the  Confeder 
acy — and  Philip's  honour.  She  was  silent. 

"It  was  a  brave  dash,  though.  We'll  give  him 
honourable  interment.  He  was  your  enemy,"  he 
continued,  "  will  you  .  .  ." 

"  I  shall  be  anxious  to  do  anything  you  wish,"  said 
Ariadne  eagerly. 

"  I  will  have  his  body  examined,  and  if  there  are 
any  papers  or  other  private  matters  upon  him,  I  will 
turn  them  over  to  you.  Will  you  see  that  they  are 
forwarded  where  they  belong  when  occasion 
serves?  " 

"  I  will  do  it  gladly,"  said  Ariadne. 

She  was  so  honest,  so  sincere  a  soul,  that  even  when 
she  was  deceiving,  people  trusted  her.  This  made 
her  task  the  harder. 

"  Did  you  find  whether  they  got  all  the  party, 
Fiske?"  asked  the  general. 

"  No,  sir,  they  didn't,"  returned  the  lieutenant. 
"  About  half  of  them  got  away." 

"  How  many  of  ours  unhurt?  " 

"  About  twenty-five  have  been  killed  or  badly 
wounded  and  a  number  scratched." 

Over  forty  men,  therefore,  had  laid  down  their 
lives  in  that  little  episode  in  order  to  get  Ariadne 
through  the  lines.  In  war,  for  the  slightest  thing, 
sometimes,  one  pays  a  heavy  price. 

Half  an  hour  later,  with  a  lock  of  hair,  a  bundle 
of  letters  and  a  watch  in  the  breast  of  her  dress,  all 
of  which  had  belonged  to  the  captain — which  were 
not  so  heavy  and  cold  as  the  sad  heart  that  beat 


26o  THE    PATRIOTS 

against  the  timepiece — Ariadne,  armed  with  a  safe 
conduct  from  General  Manning,  explaining  how  she 
came  through  his  lines  and  where  she  was  going,  set 
forth  on  the  Piney  Branch  Church  Road.  Just  as  she 
left  the  general  a  courier  dashed  up  at  full  speed. 
The  general  tore  open  the  despatch,  scanned  it  rap 
idly  and  instantly  ordered  Lieutenant  Fiske  to  ride 
after  Ariadne,  who  was  still  within  easy  sight  on 
the  road,  and  bring  her  back.  Fiske  at  the  full  speed 
of  his  horse  rapidly  overhauled  her. 

To  avoid  suspicion  she  had  ridden  her  horse  very 
slowly  away.  She  did  not  wish  to  seem  too  eager 
to  leave  the  Union  lines.  General  Manning  had 
offered  to  send  an  escort  with  her,  but  she  had  re 
fused,  persisting  that  she  knew  every  inch  of  the  road 
and  that  it  was  unnecessary.  She  had  imprudently 
added  that  she  knew  every  bypath  thoroughly,  and 
had  said  that  she  was  sure  no  one  would  molest  her 
with  the  general's  safe  conduct.  The  staff  officer 
halloed  to  her  and,  resisting  a  wild  impulse  to  put 
spur  to  her  horse  and  fly,  she  turned  as  she  saw  him 
approaching. 

"  Beg  pardon,  madam,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  rein 
beside  her,  "  but  General  Manning  wishes  to  see  you 
again." 

With  deep  misgiving  Ariadne  turned  her  horse 
and  went  back  to  the  general. 

"  Miss  Lewis,"  he  said,  "  you  have  a  chance  to 
render  our  cause  a  great  service." 

;'  What  is  it?  "  asked  Ariadne,  with  sinking  heart. 

"  You  said  you  knew  every  road,  every  bypath  in 
the  vicinity." 

She  nodded;  she  could  do  nothing  else  after  that 
uncalled  for  but  accurate  assertion. 

"  I  have  received  orders  from  General  Sheridan 
to  send  regiments  scouting  on  all  the  roads  parallel- 


A   HEAVY    PRICE  261 

ing  the  Brock  Road.  He  has  learned  that  Stuart's 
cavalry  is  contemplating  an  advance  movement  to 
ward  Todd's  Tavern,  and  he  wishes  us  to  check  him, 
if  possible,  and  hold  him  in  play  until  he  gets  up. 
Now  I  have  heard  there  is  a  road  that  leads  out  of 
the  Piney  Branch  Road  into  the  Brock  Road  about  a 
mile  above  us  here.  There  is  such  a  road,  I 
presume?  " 

1  Yes,"  faltered  Ariadne. 

"If  you  will  ride  with  one  of  my  regiments,  then, 
and  indicate  the  road,  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to 
you.  I  think  I  can  depend  upon  your  intelligence 
and  I  have  had  unequivocal  proof  of  your  courage 
and  devotion  to  the  Union  .  .  a  rare  thing  in 
Virginia,"  he  added  gallantly,  "  but  not  the  less  ap 
preciated  on  account  of  that." 

Poor  Ariadne  was  trapped.  There  was  absolutely 
no  way  to  escape.  There  was  nothing  she  could  do 
but  acquiesce.  This  business  of  playing  the  courier 
brought  her  in  strange  positions.  She  found  herself 
obliged  to  use  her  knowledge  of  the  country  to  lead 
the  Union  troops  down  upon  her  friends.  There 
was  no  way  to  avoid  it.  She  could  have  told  Man 
ning  the  truth,  but  that  would  be  the  end  of  her 
message  to  Stuart.  If  she  were  silent  and  went  on, 
by  some  trick  of  Fate  she  might  get  away  and  de 
liver  the  orders.  At  any  rate  she  could  do  nothing 
by  remaining  at  headquarters,  and  every  step  took 
her  nearer  her  goal.  Fortunately  she  was  asked  to 
lead  the  troops  in  the  direction  which  her  errand 
indicated. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  as  all  this  flashed  into 
her  mind.  "  I  will  go  gladly  and  show  the  path." 

"  Good,"  said  Manning;  "  I  knew  I  could  depend 
upon  you.  Lieutenant  Fiske,  is  the  Second  Maine 
Cavalry  ready  to  move  ?  " 


262  THE    PATRIOTS 

This  was  the  regiment  to  which  Harrington's  de 
tachment  belonged.  One  troop  held  her  husband 
prisoner,  and  now  she  was  to  lead  the  rest  of  the  regi 
ment  against  Stuart. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Fiske. 

"Ask  Colonel  Ledyard  to  report  here.  Ah, 
Colonel  Ledyard,  let  me  present  you  to  Miss  Lewis, 
a  devoted  Union  woman,  although  a  Virginian.  She 
knows  the  country  hereabouts  and  will  show  you  the 
bypath  that  leads  into  the  Brock  Road.  You  will 
take  your  regiment  as  far  toward  the  Brock  Road 
as  you  can  without  endangering  it  too  greatly. 
Should  you  meet  any  of  the  Rebel  cavalry  advancing 
you  are  to  keep  them  in  check  as  long  as  you  can. 
The  Ninth  Corps  is  marching  toward  PIney  Branch 
Church,  and  should  reach  there  to-morrow  morning. 
You  can  fall  back  that  way  upon  Burnside,  or  upon 
us,  in  case  you  are  hard  pressed.  I  shall  advance 
down  the  Brock  Road  and  send  a  regiment  down  the 
Catharpin  Road  as  well.  We  must  hold  them  off 
until  Merritt  and  Warren  and  Sedgwick  get  up. 
You  understand?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 
By  the  way,  any  report  from  Harrington  yet?  " 


By  t 

"No, 


;t  Well,  he  can  take  care  of  himself,  I  guess." 

"  I'm     sure     of     it,     sir,"     answered     Ledyard 

confidently. 

"  You  will  find  Miss  Lewis  devoted  to  our  cause," 

laughed  the  general;  "  she  will  tell  you  how  she  came 

into  the  Union  lines  as  you  go  along." 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  DARK 

ARIADNE  never  forgot  that  ride  at  the  head  of  that 
splendid  regiment  of  Union  cavalry.  Even  her  in 
experienced  eye  could  mark  the  difference  between 
the  well-fed  horses,  the  well-armed,  well-clothed,  con 
tented-looking  men,  and  the  lean  and  hungry  steeds 
and  the  riders  of  the  Confederate  army,  living  on  air 
and  hope,  and  one  ear  of  raw  corn  per  diem  between 
them — the  men  sharing  the  rations  with  their  price 
less  horses.  To  have  to  talk,  in  a  quiet  conventional 
way,  with  a  strange  officer  who  wore  the  uniform  of 
the  enemy,  at  the  time  when  her  heart  was  quivering 
with  excitement,  alarm,  uncertainty,  and  all  sorts  of 
complex  emotions,  was  not  the  least  part  of  her  task. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  lead  the  regiment  cor 
rectly.  Indeed  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  She 
was  desperate  now,  and  the  only  plan  she  could  think 
of,  in  case  they  did  come  in  touch  with  the  Con 
federates,  was  to  make  another  dash  for  it  and  trust 
to  Providence  to  carry  her  safe  from  one  line  to  the 
other  between  the  two  fires. 

It  was  a  weird  and  mysterious  progress,  as  the 
night  fell  and  darkness  came.  They  wended  their 
way  through  a  heavy  growth  of  trees,  which,  in  the 
blackness  of  the  moonless  night,  was  well-nigh  im 
penetrable.  Just  at  dusk  they  had  struck  the  branch 
road  which  was  one  of  those  wood  trails  through  the 
forest,  so  encumbered  with  logs  and  brush  as  to 
make  the  going  almost  impossible  to  horses.  Once 
having  set  the  column  on  that  road,  Ariadne  could  do 

263 


264  THE    PATRIOTS 

little  more.  She  could  not  see;  there  were  no  land 
marks  by  which  the  way  could  be  traced.  It  was  a 
mere  question  of  feeling.  Some  of  the  most  experi 
enced  men  under  the  command  of  a  vigorous  officer 
formed  the  advance,  and  the  regiment  in  a  column  of 
fours,  for  the  road  was  barely  wide  enough  for  that, 
was  strung  out  in  a  long  line. 

They  made  a  tremendous  noise  in  spite  of  every 
effort.  The  horses  starting  and  stumbling,  the  men 
muttering  and  cursing,  as  they  crashed  along  in  no 
little  confusion.  It  was  nervous  work  this  plunging 
through  blackness,  not  knowing  what  would  happen. 
At  any  moment  they  might  run  across  the  enemy 
wandering  aimlessly  as  they,  and  then  one  of  those 
horrible  scenes  with  which  the  Battle  of  the  Wilder 
ness  had  abounded,  a  death-grapple  in  the  darkness, 
would  ensue.  Every  man  had  his  carbine  ready, 
every  officer  loosened  his  pistol  in  his  holster. 

Ariadne  rode  near  the  head  of  the  column  by  the 
side  of  the  colonel.  Manning  had  not  told  Colonel 
Ledyard  that  Ariadne  was  going  to  the  Piney 
Branch  Church,  so  when  she  turned  with  the  rest  of 
the  regiment  in  the  byroad  he  expressed  no  surprise. 
Conversation  had  been  forbidden  in  a  vain  effort  to 
lessen  the  noise,  and  the  colonel  rode  in  silence, 
saying  nothing  save  to  give  a  whispered  reply  to  an 
equally  low  report  from  some  officer  or  man  who 
fancied  he  had  something  to  tell. 

As  for  Ariadne,  she  was  in  a  state  of  nervous 
tension  almost  amounting  to  hysteria.  She  had  seen 
so  much  death,  she  had  passed  through  so  many  ex 
citing  scenes,  that  she  had  not  strength  for  this  ter 
rible  prowl  in  the  Stygian  darkness.  She  knew  the 
dangers  that  lay  before  them,  that  any  moment  they 
might  blunder  ino  the  enemy  in  spite  of  every  pre 
caution,  and  she  kept  listening  in  strained  expectation 


'It  was  a  weird  and  mysterious  progress,  as  the  night  fell 
and  darkness  came" 


THE    MESSAGE    IN    THE    DARK      265 

for  the  report  of  a  weapon,  the  shriek  of  a  victim, 
the  cheer  of  a  fighter.  Listening  while  her  heart 
beat  so  that  it  sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  tap  of 
a  drum. 

The  intangible  is  always  the  more  terrible  than 
the  real  to  the  being  whose  only  courage  is  moral. 
This  is  the  high  variety  in  which  women  abound.  If 
it  had  been  daylight,  Ariadne  could  have  stood  it  bet 
ter,  but  each  slow,  plodding  step  of  her  horse,  as  they 
felt  their  way  over  the  broken  road,  made  her  wish 
to  give  vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  wild  scream.  She 
had  reached  the  limit  of  her  endurance  when  the 
expected  happened. 

Without  a  word  of  warning,  without  the  slightest 
indication,  the  wood  to  the  right  was  suddenly  illumi 
nated  by  what  seemed  to  the  startled  girl  to  be  a 
number  of  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  and  the  darkness 
was  split  by  a  series  of  terrific  concussions.  Her 
horse  stopped,  screamed  horribly  and  sank  shudder 
ing  to  the  ground.  She  heard  shrieks  and  cries, 
groans  and  curses.  She  herself  was  conscious  of  a 
sharp  pain  in  her  shoulder;  something  smote  her 
head  like  a  hammer.  She  felt  and  knew  nothing 
more. 

Merciful  oblivion  rushed  over  her  like  a  wave. 
She  could  not  hear  the  spluttering  fire  with  which  the 
discharge  was  returned;  the  words  of  command,  by 
which  the  officers  strove  to  rally  the  regiment;  the 
wild  flight  back  up  the  road  in  a  confused,  disorgan 
ised  mass,  which  the  officers  tried  in  vain  to  stay. 
She  knew  nothing  at  all  until  a  light  flashed  into  her 
face  and  she  opened  her  eyes  to  find  a  figure  bending 
over  her,  a  bearded,  rough-looking  man,  seen  dimly 
in  the  faint  light  cast  by  a  lantern,  and  to  hear  a 
voice  exclaiming: 

"  Great  God,  it's  a  woman !  " 


266  THE    PATRIOTS 

It  was  a  Southern  voice,  it  must  be  a  Southern 
man. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  she  asked  feebly. 

"  My  name  is  Wittington.  I  belong  to  the  Sixth 
Virginia  Cavalry." 

"  General  Stuart's  command?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Is  he  here?" 

"  Back  on  the  road  about  a  mile  and  a  half  away." 

"  Take  me  to  him  immediately." 

"  But  you  are  wounded  in  the  shoulder,"  said  the 
officer,  lifting  his  lantern. 

"  No  matter.  I  have  a  message  from  General 
Lee  to  General  Stuart  of  the  greatest  importance." 

"  How  came  you  to  be  with  that  Yankee  regiment, 
then?" 

"  I  can't  explain  now,"  said  Ariadne.  "  But  if 
you  love  your  country,  for  God's  sake  take  me  to 
General  Stuart!  " 

"What  is  it,  Wittington?"  asked  Colonel  Green, 
who  commanded  the  regiment,  at  that  moment  rid 
ing  up. 

A  detachment  of  Confederates  was  busy  with 
lanterns  inspecting  the  dead  and  wounded,  who  lay 
in  great  heaps  in  the  road.  A  sharp  fire  further  on 
in  the  forest  indicated  that  Colonel  Ledyard  had 
finally  got  his  troops  in  hand,  and  as  he  greatly  out 
numbered  the  small  Confederate  force,  he  was  at 
last  holding  their  advance  in  check.  No  blame  could 
have  been  attached  to  him  for  the  ambush  into  which 
he  had  fallen  under  such  circumstances.  After  the 
first  shock  of  surprise  was  over  he  rallied  his  men 
and  was  carrying  out  the  orders  to  check  the  advance 
of  the  Confederates  with  the  coolness  and  precision 
of  a  veteran.  Now  that  he  knew  that  the  enemy  was 
there,  after  dismounting  his  men  he  could  play  the 


THE    MESSAGE    IN    THE    DARK      267 

game  of  wild  forest  fighting  in  the  dark  as  well  as 
they. 

"  It's  a  woman,  a  lady,  sir,"  answered  Captain 
Wittington,  lifting  his  lantern  higher.  "  She  says 
she  has  a  message  for  General  Stuart  from  General 
Lee." 

'  You  may  give  me  the  message,  madam." 

"  I  will  not;  I  cannot  give  it  to  any  one  but  the 
general.  You  must  send  me  to  him  at  once !  " 

"  She's  wounded,"  said  Wittington,  "  in  the 
shoulder." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  colonel,  getting  off  his  horse 
and  kneeling  beside  her  as  she  lay  half  supported 
by  the  Confederate  officer,  "it  is  so;  you  have  a 
bullet  through  your  shoulder.  And  bless  me,  a  gash 
across  your  temple.  You  are  in  no  condition  .  .  ." 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir,  I  must  get  to  General  Stuart 
if  I  die !  I  have  come  through  everything." 

"  But  that  Yankee  regiment?  " 

"  I  had  to  go  with  them.  I  will  explain  all  to 
General  Stuart.  The  fate  of  the  army  de 
pends  .  .  ." 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Grafton,  Mrs.  ^Philip  Grafton." 

"  Your  husband  is     .     .     ." 

"  A  captain  on  General  Lee's  staff." 

"Why,  he  was  at  General  Stuart's  headquarters 
this  morning,  Colonel.  I  saw  him  there,"  said 
Wittington. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Ariadne.  "  Now  will  you  take 
me  back?  " 

;<  Where  is  the  surgeon?" 

"  Here,  sir,"  said  the  doctor  from  a  nearby 
wounded  man. 

"  Ah,  Doctor.     Here's  a  woman     .     .     ." 

"What,  sir!" 


268  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  Yes,  see  what  you  can  do  for  her  quickly." 

The  physician  came  over  and  knelt  down  beside 
Ariadne,  slit  her  dress  on  the  shoulder,  the  right 
shoulder  this  time,  and  began  a  hasty  examination. 

"  Wittington,"  said  Colonel  Green,  as  the  doctor 
relieved  the  staff  officer,  "  get  a  horse  somewhere. 
Ride  back  with  this  lady  to  General  Stuart,  if  the 
doctor  says  she  can  go,  that  is." 

"  I  must  go !  "  said  Ariadne,  wincing  as  the  sur 
geon  examined  the  wound. 

"  It's  only  a  flesh  wound,  madam.  Your  temple 
is  grazed,  too.  What's  the  matter  with  this  arm  ?  " 
he  asked  as  he  noticed  the  bandage  on  the  left 
arm. 

"  That  was  from  a  Yankee  bullet  this  afternoon," 
answered  Ariadne,  struggling  desperately  against  an 
overwhelming  inclination  to  faint. 

"Great  heaven!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  "have 
you  been  shot  at  by  both  sides?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  think  she  can  go,  Doctor?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  answered  the  surgeon  dubiously. 
"  Here,  take  a  swallow  of  this?  " 

For  the  second  time  that  afternoon  Ariadne  was 
revived  by  the  whiskey,  which  she  hated.  Of  course 
the  stimulant  helped  her,  but  only  her  iron  resolution 
carried  her  through.  Her  shoulder  and  her  arm 
both  pained  her  exceedingly.  The  bullet  that  had  just 
grazed  her  head  gave  her  the  most  suffering,  how 
ever.  The  skull  had  not  been  fractured,  but  the  con 
cussion  had  been  terrific,  and  her  head  rang  and 
throbbed  and  beat  until  she  was  almost  insane. 

They  had  put  her  own  saddle  on  the  troop  horse 
assigned  to  her  and  knotted  the  reins  over  the  pom 
mel.  She  was  unable  to  use  her  right  hand,  and  to 
move  her  left  was  also  difficult.  Captain  Wittington 


THE    MESSAGE    IN   THE    DARK      269 

and  a  soldier  rode  on  either  side  of  her;  the  latter 
part  of  the  journey  she  rode  with  the  captain's  arm 
around  her  waist,  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  In  no 
other  way  could  she  sit  her  horse.  The  captain  was 
a  gentleman,  however,  and  he  was  an  officer  in  the 
Confederate  army  as  well,  she  reflected.  Philip 
would  probably  be  ragingly  jealous  if  he  had  seen 
her  thus  supported,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

After  riding,  it  seemed  to  her  hours,  through  the 
blackness  she  suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  light  among 
the  trees  far  ahead.  Really  she  had  only  come  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  place  of  the  ambush. 
The  light  came  from  Stuart's  camp.  The  scene  was 
picturesque  and  peaceful.  Around  the  fire  a  little 
group  of  men  was  congregated.  Some  lay  on  the 
ground,  others  sat  with  their  backs  against  the  trees. 
One  of  them  was  strumming  a  banjo  and  singing  a 
song  with  a  curious  refrain : 

"  If  you  want  to  have  a  good  time, 
Jine  the  cavalry, 
Jine  the  cavalry, 
Bully,  boys,  hey!" 

Back  of  this  group  could  be  dimly  seen  the  heads 
of  the  regiments,  the  men  standing  by  their  horses 
at  ease.  Off  to  the  right  of  the  men  gleamed  grim- 
looking  cannon  reflecting  the  light  from  their  pol 
ished  brass  muzzles.  The  peculiar  odour  of  chicory 
boiling  over  the  fire  met  them  as  they  approached. 
The  light  was  low  upon  the  ground  and  the  lofty  tree 
trunks  were  shrouded  in  an  intenser  blackness  over 
head.  The  effect  was  strange  and  beautiful,  but 
Ariadne  had  no  eyes  for  it  then. 

"  We're  here,  ma'am,"  said  Wittington  gently. 
"  There,  by  the  fire  yonder,  is  General  Stuart." 


270  THE    PATRIOTS 

As  the  three  horses  came  into  the  light  the  group 
around  the  fire  caught  sight  of  them.  A  tall  man 
seated  on  a  log  with  his  back  against  the  tree,  who 
had  been  listening  to  the  banjo,  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  stepped  toward  the  newcomers,  shading  his  face 
with  his  hand. 

"Whom  have  we  here?"  he  exclaimed.  "By 
heavens,  Wittington,  and  a  woman !  " 

"  Help  her  down,  gentlemen,"  said  Wittington. 
"  She  has  a  message  for  you,  General." 

The  general  sprang  to  the  side  of  Adriadne's 
horse.  He  fairly  lifted  her  to  the  ground,  and  as  he 
observed  her  reeling,  he  held  her  tightly. 

"Whiskey!  "he  cried. 

"No,"  said  Ariadne,  "  I've  had  enough  whiskey; 
let  me  down.  Give  me  a  drink  of  water." 

She  knew  that  she  was  going  to  die,  at  least  she 
felt  so,  but  she  knew  that  she  could  keep  up  until 
she  had  delivered  her  message.  With  coats  and  sad 
dles  the  men  of  the  staff  made  a  seat  for  her  on  a 
log  backed  by  a  tree  near  the  camp  fire.  Some  one 
brought  her  cool  water  from  a  nearby  spring.  They 
waited  until  she  drank,  and,  pouring  the  rest  upon 
her  hands,  wetted  her  face. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cup  of  coffee,  madam,  only  it's 
chicory?  "  asked  the  chief  officer. 

"  Nothing  more,"  said  Ariadne.  "  Are  you  Gen 
eral  Stuart?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  at  the  tall  blond 
figure  bending  over  her. 

"  I  am;  what  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  General  Lee  is  moving  toward  Spottsylvania 
Court  House.  He  got  your  message  that  the  Fed 
erals  were  converging  upon  that  point  also.  He 
orders  you  to  send  a  division  up  the  Brock  Road,  dis 
mount  them,  throw  up  breastworks,  and  to  hold  back 
the  Union  advance  as  long  as  possible." 


THE    MESSAGE    IN   THE   DARK      271 

The  general  listened  in  silence.  The  staff 
crowded  around  in  breathless  attention. 

"  That's  not  all,"  continued  Ariadne,  after  taking 
another  swallow  of  water;  "  another  division  is  to 
be  sent  over  to  the  Shady  Grove  Church  Road  to 
hold  it  and  the  Catharpin  Road,  if  possible.  General 
Longstreet  is  already  on  the  march  toward  Spottsyl- 
vania  Court  House  by  way  of  the  Shady  Grove 
Church.  By  morning  all  of  General  Lee's  corps  will 
be  moving.  You  are  not  to  try  to  cut  Grant's  com 
munications.  It's  more  important  to  hold  these 
roads,  to  give  General  Lee  time  to  get  to  Spottsyl- 
vania  Court  House  before  the  Federals,  than  any 
thing  else.  Wait,  there's  something  more.  He  thinks 
that  the  Federal  troops  may  move  down  the  Piney 
Branch  Church  Road,  so  you  are  to  be  careful  not  to 
be  taken  in  flank  there.  You  are  to  be  sure  to  fight 
dismounted,  for  if  you  charged  the  Federal  cav 
alry  .  .  although  you  could  beat  them,  you 
would  not  be  in  condition  to  withstand  the  advance 
of  the  infantry  supports.  You  are  to  fight  to  hold 
them  back  to  the  last  gasp.  That's  all." 

"  Madam,  who  are  you  that  you  deliver  such  a 
message?"  asked  Stuart  in  amazement. 

"  My  name  is  Grafton.  I  am  the  wife  of  Captain 
Philip  Grafton  of  General  Lee's  staff. 

"  He's  got  a  wife  to  be  proud  of,  then,"  said 
Stuart.  "But  have  you  any  written  orders?" 

"  None.  The  orders  were  given  verbally  to  Cap 
tain  Grafton  this  noon." 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  transmit  them?  " 

"  He  was  captured  by  a  squadron  of  Union  cav 
alry  near  my  house,  just  off  the  Catharpin  Road,  two 
miles  below  Todd's  Tavern,  this  afternoon.  I 
escaped  .  .  rather,  they  didn't  think  me  impor 
tant  enough  to  detain  me  as  a  prisoner.  My  husband 


272  THE    PATRIOTS 

gave  me  the  message  to  deliver  to  you  at  all  hazards 
for  the  sake  of  the  army,  for  the  sake  of  the 
Confederacy,  for  the  sake  of  his  honour." 

"  How  did  you  get  through  the  Union  lines  at  the 
tavern?  " 

"  I  fell  in  with  a  body  of  scouts  from  General 
Early's  corps." 

"  But  General  Early  has  no  corps." 

"  He  was  appointed  to-day  in  place  of  General 
Hill,  who  is  ill.  They  were  looking  for  a  road  and 
captured  me.  We  made  up  a  ruse  by  which  they 
pursued  me  nearly  into  the  Union  lines.  The  Union 
troops  came  out  to  fight  them  and  I  got  this  wound 
in  my  arm  here." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  Confederate 
officer?" 

"  Elson." 

"  Do  any  of  you  know  him?  "  asked  the  general, 
turning  to  his  staff. 

"  I  do,"  answered  one. 

"  I  have  his  letters  and  watch  and  ring  here," 
said  Ariadne,  drawing  them  forth. 

She  handed  them  to  the  general,  who  glanced  at 
them  quickly. 

"What's  this?  "  he  asked,  holding  up  one  of  the 
papers.  It  was  Manning's  note  to  secure  her  passage 
through  the  Union  lines.  "  Pardon  me,"  continued 
the  general,  "  I  must  make  sure."  He  read  the  note 
carefully.  "  This  does  not  bear  out  your  claim, 
madam,"  he  said  finally,  "  a  Federal  safe  conduct!  " 

"  And,  General,"  broke  in  Captain  Wittington, 
"  she  was  with  a  Yankee  regiment  when  we  am 
bushed  them  and  drove  them  back  with  heavy 
loss." 

"  I  supposed  you  had,  from  the  firing,"  said 
Stuart.  "  Madam,  this  doesn't  fit  in  with  your  start- 


THE    MESSAGE    IN    THE    DARK      273 

ling  story.  Have  you  any  other  evidences  as  to 
who  you  are?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Ariadne,  after  thinking  deeply.  "  I 
have."  She  brought  another  paper  out  of  her 
bodice,  a  worn  paper.  She  thanked  God  she  had  had 
forethought  enough  to  bring  it  with  her  that  after 
noon.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  the  President  of  the 
United  States." 

"  Is  he  vouching  for  you?  "  said  Stuart,  in  greater 
surprise  than  before. 

"  It  will  show  who  I  am.  My  husband  belonged 
to  Pickett's  division.  He  was  badly  wounded  at 
Gettysburg.  I  went  North  to  seek  him.  The  Presi 
dent  gave  me  this  letter.  It  says  who  I  am." 

She  handed  it  to  Stuart. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  general,  after  reading  it  over, 
"  I  have  heard  of  your  story.  I  believe  you  now. 
Can  you  describe  Captain  Grafton?  " 

Describe  her  husband?  Every  feature  was 
printed  on  her  heart.  Rapidly  she  told  the  general 
of  Grafton's  perfections.  There  was  a  genuineness, 
a  spontaneity  about  her  description,  that  brought  a 
smile  to  Stuart's  face  and  covert  laughter  to  some  of 
the  others  who  watched  the  strange  scene. 

"  You  have  convinced  me  at  last,  absolutely,"  said 
Stuart. 

"  Thank  God  for  that    Am  I  in  time?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

Just  then  a  courier  dashed  up  as  rapidly  as  the 
darkness  and  the  trees  permitted. 

"  General  Stuart !  "  he  cried. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  Yankee  cavalry  has  already  seized  Spottsyl- 
vania  Court  House." 

Stuart  looked  thoughtful.  If  Ariadne  were  not 
what  she  pretended  to  be,  if  the  orders  that  scat- 


274  THE    PATRIOTS 

tered  his  corps  and  detained  him  where  he  was  were 
not  genuine,  he  would  be  ruined.  The  enemy  would 
soon  occupy  the  Piney  Branch  Church  Road,  they 
were  already  upon  the  Brock  Road  and  the  Catharpin 
Road,  and  now  they  had  seized  Spottsylvania  Court 
House  in  his  rear.  He  had  no  doubt  that  by  recall 
ing  the  regiments,  like  that  of  Colonel  Green,  which 
he  had  sent  scouting,  and  massing  his  force,  he  could 
seize  the  Court  House,  or  break  through  the  Union 
lines,  but  if  he  did  that  he  would  leave  all  the  roads 
open.  It  was  a  grave  matter  to  depend  upon  a 
woman's  word  and  a  man's  judgment.  Every  staff 
officer  appreciated  it;  indeed  Ariadne  appreciated  it 
herself.  The  general,  who  was  not  given  to  hesitation, 
considered  the  subject  for  a  brief  space. 

"  I  believe  you  and  I  shall  carry  out  the  orders," 
he  said  finally.  "  General  Lee,"  he  turned  to  Fitz- 
hugh  Lee,  one  of  his  division  commanders  and  a 
nephew  of  the  commander-in-chief }  "  you  will  take 
your  division  and  hold  the  Brock  Road.  The  men 
are  to  be  dismounted,  the  horses  to  the  rear.  I  will 
give  you  Major  Breathed's  guns.  You  are  to  ob 
struct  the  road,  conceal  yourself  in  the  woods,  throw 
up  any  kind  of  breastworks  you  can,  and  hold  back 
the  Yankees  at  all  hazards.  You  would  better  hold 
one  brigade  in  reserve  to  protect  your  right  flank  in 
case  the  enemy  comes  down  the  Piney  Branch  Church 
Road.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  General  Lee.  "  Shall  I  move 
at  once?  " 

"  Immediately." 

"Very  good,  sir.  Come,  Breathed,"  he  said  to 
another  gallant  young  officer,  scarcely  more  than  a 
boy,  whose  achievements  with  the  horse  artillery 
were  the  marvel  of  both  armies. 

"  General   Hampton,"   continued  Stuart,   turning 


THE    MESSAGE    IN    THE    DARK      275 

to  another  officer  who  had  heard  all,  "  you  will  move 
south  by  the  blockhouse  road  and  advance  as  far  to 
the  west  toward  Shady  Grove  Church  as  you  think 
safe.  If  possible,  cover  the  junction  of  the  Church 
Road  and  Catharpin  Road.  I  cannot  give  you  any 
guns.  The  main  attack  will  be  on  the  Brock  Road, 
but  you  must  do  the  best  you  can.  Don't  let  the 
enemy  flank  you  down  the  Catharpin  Road.  You  are 
to  dismount  your  men  also  and  on  no  account  use 
them  other  than  as  infantry,  whatever  the  tempta 
tion.  Do  you  hear  that,  Lee?"  he  called  after  the 
general,  who  was  mounting  his  horse. 

"I  do,  sir,"  answered  Fitz  Lee;  "although  my 
boys  won't  like  it,  your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,  sir." 

"  A  cavalryman  on  foot  is  like  a  sailor  on  shore," 
said  Stuart,  "  but  this  time  it  can't  be  helped.  Where 
is  General  Rooney  Lee?"  he  continued,  referring  to 
W.  H.  F.  Lee,  his  other  division  commander  and  the 
son  of  the  commander-in-chief. 

"  Here,  sir,"  answered  that  officer. 

"  I  shall  keep  Barringer's  brigade  of  your  division 
with  me,"  said  Stuart.  "  You  will  take  Chambliss* 
brigade  and  ride  back  toward  the  Court  House. 
You  are  not  to  bring  on  an  engagement  with  the 
Yankees  there,  but  must  prevent  them  attacking 
Hampton,  or  Fitz  Lee  in  the  rear,  if  they  advance. 
You  are  only  to  observe,  but  the  duty  is  a  most  im 
portant  one.  All  three  of  you  gentlemen  will  find 
me  here  with  Barringer's  brigade,  which  I  shall  hold 
as  a  reserve  to  be  sent  in  wherever  it  is  necessary.  But 
for  God's  sake  don't  send  for  them  unless  you  are 
in  the  last  ditch.  You  understand  what  you  have  to 
do?  Go  ahead,  then.  I  should  like  to  be  with  every 
division  and  I  think  it's  the  first  cavalry  fight  in  the 
army  that  I  haven't  led  in,  but  in  conducting  these 
complicated  operations,"  continued  Stuart,  laughing 


276  THE    PATRIOTS 

like  a  boy,  "  over  such  a  large  extent  of  territory, 
I  shall  have  to  stay  at  the  centre  of  events.  Good 
bye  and  good  luck  to  you.  The  salvation  of  our 
army,  and  our  country,"  he  added  with  a  sudden 
gravity,  "  depend  upon  you.  I  know  that  I  can  trust 
you." 

The  officers  saluted  and  turned  away.  In  an  in 
stant  the  woods  were  filled  with  commotion  as  the 
troops  were  called  to  attention  and  the  brigades  be 
gan  to  move. 

"  Captain  Wittington,  ride  back  to  Colonel 
Green,"  said  Stuart,  "  and  tell  him  what  the  move 
ment  is  and  that  he  must  hold  on  to  that  branch 
road.  If  he  is  driven  in  he  can  rally  his  men  here. 
But  he  must  not  be  driven  in." 

"We'll  hold  it,  General,  depend  upon  us,"  said 
Wittington,  turning  away  to  deliver  his  message. 

General  Stuart  was  left  alone  with  Ariadne.  She 
had  been  listening  with  intense  attention  to  the  con 
versation. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  general,  "  you  see  I  trust 
you." 

"  You  do  well,  sir;  you  will  never  regret  it." 

"  Do  you  understand  the  purport  of  my  orders?  " 

"  Every  one  of  them,  sir.  They  are  exactly  what 
I  told  you  to  do." 

Stuart  laughed. 

"  By  Heaven,"  he  cried,  "  you  ought  to  have  been 
a  soldier.  Grafton  is  a  lucky  man.  You  are  the  best 
general  of  us  all." 

But  Ariadne  was  very  far  from  being  a  soldier, 
for,  as  the  general  spoke,  there  came  to  her  a  con 
sciousness  that  her  errand  was  fulfilled,  that  she  had 
saved  the  Confederacy — her  husband's  honour,  and 
that  there  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  bear  up  any 
longer,  so  she  gently  collapsed  then  and  there. 


BOOK  FIVE 
"Lee's  Miserables" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  MAN  AGAINST  THE   GUN 

HARRINGTON  was  a  daring  young  soldier,  and  he 
pushed  far  south  on  the  Catharpin  Road  until  he 
arrived  at  its  junction  with  the  Shady  Grove  Road. 
There  he  divided  his  force  and  sent  one  moiety  under 
a  veteran  sergeant  to  the  west,  while  with  the  other 
he  advanced  to  the  eastward.  Each  party  was  to 
proceed  cautiously  and  after  inspecting  the  road  for 
a  mile  or  so  was  to  return  to  the  junction  where  they 
separated.  Grafton  was  left  alone  at  the  junction 
with  the  remaining  sergeant  and  half  a  dozen 
troopers.  The  sergeant  had  orders  to  withdraw  into 
the  wood  a  short  distance  and  seek  a  suitable  place 
of  concealment  where  they  might  pass  the  night. 
He  was  enjoined  to  guard  his  prisoner  carefully. 

He  carried  out  his  instructions  to  the  letter. 
Forcing  a  way  back  through  the  underbrush  for  a 
few  hundred  yards  the  sergeant  came  across  a  small 
natural  clearing  which  he  decided,  with  the  eye  of 
an  experienced  soldier,  would  do  admirably  for  a 
camp  when  the  other  detachments  joined  him.  He 
left  Grafton  severely  alone,  save  for  the  presence 
of  his  armed  guard,  who  stood  constantly  by  him, 
ready  to  shoot  him  at  the  first  movement,  while 
preparations  were  made  for  tn"e  encampment. 

It  had  become  dark  long  since,  but  the  sergeant 
did  not  dare  kindle  a  fire.  The  men  ate  from  their 
haversacks,  sharing  a  portion  with  Grafton,  and  then 
all  but  the  sergeant  and  his  guard  stretched  them 
selves  out  for  a  nap.  About  ten  o'clock  a  picket 

279 


28o  THE    PATRIOTS 

which  the  sergeant  had  placed  at  the  junction  came 
back  and  reported  horsemen  approaching. 

They  proved  to  be  Captain  Harrington's  own  de 
tachment.  They  had  ridden  five  or  six  miles  down 
the  road  and  had  seen  absolutely  nothing.  Shortly 
after  his  arrival  the  other  sergeant  came  up  with 
his  party.  He  reported  that  a  large  force  of  the 
enemy  were  marching  down  the  Shady  Grove  Road, 
not  more  than  five  miles  away.  He  stated  that  he 
had  experienced  great  difficulty  in  bringing  his  own 
men  off  without  being  observed. 

The  Federal  captain  concluded  that  he  had  pushed 
his  reconnoisance'  as  far  as  was  prudent,  and  the  best 
thing  for  him  to  do  now  would  be  to  return  and 
report  to  the  troops,  which  must  by  this  time  have 
occupied  Todd's  Tavern  and  the  Brock  Road.  The 
horses  of  the  fatigue  party  were  saddled  and  the 
whole  troop  trotted  rapidly  up  the  Catharpin  Road, 
over  which  Grafton  had  galloped  eight  hours  before. 

It  was  not  after  twelve  o'clock  at  night  and  very 
dark.  Confident  that  his  enemies  were  all  behind 
him,  ignorant  that  there  was  a  road  from  the  west 
that  led  into  the  Catharpin  Road,  Harrington  ad 
vanced  as  rapidly  as  his  tired  horses  admitted,  and, 
with  less  care  than  usual,  kept  a  somewhat  negligent 
watch  ahead.  Accordingly  he  ran  into  a  carefully 
prepared  ambush  engineered  by  the  advance  of 
Early's  corps  and  led  by  the  remnants  of  Elson's 
troop.  There  was  a  sharp  melee  in  the  darkness. 
Harrington  was  shot,  with  one  of  his  sergeants  and 
several  of  his  men.  The  remainder  of  his  troop 
scattered;  some  took  to  the  woods,  others  raced  back 
toward  the  Shady  Grove  Road,  some  were  captured ; 
as  an  organised  force  the  troop  was  wiped  out. 

The  melee  freed  Grafton.  As  he  made  no  effort 
to  escape,  of  course  the  Confederates  grabbed  him 


THE    MAN   AGAINST   THE    GUN      281 

unresisting.  He  asked  for  the  captain  of  the  de 
tachment  and  to  him  declared  his  name  and  rank. 
After  some  difficulty  he  persuaded  this  officer  that  he 
was  really  what  he  claimed  to  be,  an  officer  on  the 
staff  of  General  Lee  charged  with  a  message  for 
General  Stuart,  which  should  have  been  delivered 
six  hours  before.  In  establishing  his  identity  he  was 
helped  by  the  story  told  by  the  men  of  Elson's  de 
tachment  about  the  assistance  they  had  rendered 
Mrs.  Grafton,  and  his  assertions  were  borne  out  and 
generously  seconded  by  the  Union  captain,  who  was 
dying. 

That  girl  up  North,  like  the  girl  down  South 
whom  Elson  had  remembered,  would  never  see  him 
again.  The  war  which  he  had  deplored  and  for  the 
termination  of  which  he  had  sighed  a  few  hours  be 
fore,  was  over  for  him  sooner  than  he  had  fancied — 
and  in  a  different  way.  He  lay  on  the  ground 
breathing  heavily,  dying  from  a  shot  through  the 
lungs.  Some  one  held  a  lantern  over  him  and  Graf- 
ton  knelt  down  by  his  side.  The  young  man, 
scarcely  more  than  a  boy,  was  trying  to  speak. 

"  Captain,"  he  whispered,  "  those  letters     «     . 
you  will  see  that  she  gets     .     .     ." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Grafton. 

Death  was  an  everyday  matter  in  the  army,  but  it 
never  came  home  personally  to  any  man  without  his 
being  deeply  affected  by  it,  and  this  soldier  of  the 
enemy,  although  he  had  frustrated  Grafton's  er 
rand,  had  saved  the  life,  the  honour,  of  his  wife;  and 
Grafton  was  profoundly  touched. 

"  You  will  find  the  address  there     .     .     tell  her 
.     .     I  died     .     .     for  my  country.     Could     .     . 
you     .     .     say     .     .     a    prayer,    do    you     .     . 
think?" 

Grafton  had  never  prayed  for  any  one  before,  that 


282  THE    PATRIOTS 

is,  he  had  never  voiced  any  one  else's  prayer  in  pub 
lic,  and  he  felt  a  natural  hesitation,  a  false  shame 
in  doing  it  now,  but  the  request  was  one  that  he  could 
not  refuse.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  the  men  of  the 
detachment  followed  his  example. 

"  What  shall  I  say?  "  he  asked  nervously. 

"  I  guess  anything'll  do  .  .  so  long  .  .  as 
it's  .  .  a  prayer." 

Grafton  was  a  Churchman  and,  like  all  Episco 
palians,  he  was  familiar  with  the  splendid  liturgy  of 
his  church.  But  he  was  as  one  stricken  dumb  at  that 
instant.  He  could  not  remember  a  single  one  of 
the  familiar  prayers. 

"  You  will     .     .     have  to     .     .     hurry,"  whis- 

Eered  the  dying  man  painfully,  "  if  I  .  .  am  to 
ear  .  .  ." 

"  Lord,"  began  Grafton  desperately,  "  be  merci 
ful  to  me  .  .  a  sinner." 

It  was  a  strange  phrase,  yet  perhaps  there  could 
be  none  better  on  a  man's  lips  when  he  appears  be 
fore  his  final  Judge. 

"  Lord  ..  .  ."  said  Harrington  very  slowly. 
"  That's  .  .  good.  A  sinner  .  .  be  merci 
ful  .  .  to  me." 

That  was  all.  Grafton  rose  to  his  feet  and  faced 
the  officer. 

"  I  must  go  to  General  Stuart,"  he  said,  "  if  it  is 
not  too  late.  Can  you  give  me  a  horse?  " 

"  Take  any  one  of  those  we  have  captured,"  said 
the  officer,  "  although  horses  are  scarcer  than  men, 
and  a  blamed  sight  more  precious." 

It  used  to  be  after  battles  and  skirmishes,  so  it 
is  said,  that  commanders  asked  each  other  first  of  all, 
"  How  many  horses  did  you  lose?"  and  then  after 
exchanging  comparisons,  "  What  were  your  casual 
ties  among  your  men?  "  Yet  men  were  scarce,  too, 


THE    MAN   AGAINST   THE    GUN       283 

in  those  struggling  days  when  the  Confederacy  was 
slowly  being  constricted  to  death  by  Grant's  tre 
mendous  columns. 

Aided  by  the  lantern,  Graf  ton  picked  out  the  best 
horse,  and,  bidding  the  commander  of  the  detach 
ment  good-bye,  galloped  on  ahead  of  him  down  the 
Catharpin  Road.  He  knew  that  it  would  be  per 
fectly  futile  to  try  to  reach  Todd's  Tavern  now. 
The  Union  troops  must  be  there  in  force  by  this 
time.  He  intended  to  strike  down  the  Shady  Grove 
Road,  turn  north  at  the  Blockhouse  Road,  in  the  hope 
of  intercepting  Stuart,  in  case  his  wife  should  not 
have  been  able  to  deliver  the  message.  He  was 
thankful  for  what  he  had  heard  of  her  progress  from 
Elson's  men.  The  anxieties  that  had  overwhelmed 
him  during  the  long  hours  while  he  had  been  a  pris 
oner  were  immeasurable  at  the  thought  of  Ariadne, 
alone,  wandering  around  that  wilderness,  in  danger 
from  friend  and  foe  alike,  seeking  Stuart,  with  pos 
sibly  the  Union  army  in  possession  of  the  roads. 

He  had  lost  much  time  and  could  not  spare  the 
horse.  Hence  he  rode  him  like  one  possessed.  If 
he  could  reach  Stuart  by  daylight  he  might  not  be 
too  late,  but  the  way  was  long  and  the  horse  was 
very  tired.  It  was  dawn  before  he  came  to  the 
bridge  at  the  old  Block  House.  As  he  hurried  down 
the  hill  toward  the  little  valley  of  the  Po  he  saw  a 
cloud  of  dust  in  the  road  below,  and  above  it  the  nod 
ding  figures  of  horsemen.  His  own  horse  was  lit 
erally  at  the  end  of  his  strength.  There  was  nothing 
he  could  do.  He  was  on  a  bare  hillside.  There  was 
no  concealment  possible.  To  escape,  if  there  was 
a  necessity,  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

Graf  ton  therefore  went  down  the  hill.  The  ap 
proaching  troops  might  be  Union  cavalry,  although 
the  chances  were  against  it.  At  any  rate  he  must  go 


284  THE    PATRIOTS 

on.  As  he  approached  the  horsemen  nearer  he  saw 
that  they  were  Confederates.  Instinctively  he  put 
spurs  into  his  horse,  but  the  brave  beast  was  done 
for.  He  faltered  and  fell  dying,  as  Grafton  leaped 
from  him  and  ran  down  the  hill  to  the  bridge,  at 
which  he  arrived  just  as  the  first  regiment  of  Hamp 
ton's  advance  crossed  it.  The  men  stared  hard  at 
him,  but  he  explained  that  he  was  from  General  Lee, 
and  demanded  to  see  their  commander.  In  a  few 
moments  Hampton  stopped  before  him. 

"  Captain  Grafton !  "  he  exclaimed,  recognising 
him  at  once. 

"  Yes,  General.  I  have  orders  from  General  Lee 
to  General  Stuart.  Where  is  he?  " 

"  Back  on  the  Brock  Road  near  Alsops,  I  be 
lieve." 

"  Are  you  retreating?  " 

"Does  this  look  like  it?"  laughed  Hampton, 
pointing  ahead. 

"  General  Lee  says  that  General  Stuart  is    .    .    ." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  bother  to  deliver  that  message. 
We've  had  it." 

Grafton's  heart  leaped  in  his  breast. 

"  Did  my  wife  get  there?  " 

"  She  did.  And  told  us  late  last  night  just  what 
you  would  say.  I'm  down  here  to  cover  the  Shady 
Grove  Road." 

"  Longstreet  is  marching  toward  you.  He  can't 
be  more  than  a  dozen  miles  away  now,  and  Early  is 
coming  down  the  Catharpin  Road.  He  will  be  here 
during  the  morning." 

"  Good,"  said  Hampton;  "  I  guess  we  won't  have 
to  fight  for  it." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that  The  Federal  troops 
are  in  force  at  Todd's  Tavern  and  will  probably  come 
down  the  Catharpin  Road.  If  you  get  there  before 


THE    MAN   AGAINST   THE    GUN      285 

Longstrect  or  Early  does,  you'll  have  a  chance  at 
them." 

"  We'll  get  there,"  answered  Hampton  jovially. 
"  Fitz  Lee's  division  is  on  the  Brock  Road  holding 
back  the  advance  that  way." 

"  He's  sure  to  get  in  it ! ' 

'Yes,  he's  got  all  the  luck  this  morning." 

"  Where  is  the  other  division  ?  " 

"  One  brigade  of  it  is  facing  Spottsylvania.  The 
Yanks  are  there.  The  other  brigade  Stuart  has 
in  the  centre  of  events  ready  to  reinforce  every 
thing." 

"And  my  wife?     She  was  all  right?  " 

"Well,  she  got  battered  up  a  little  in  getting 
through  the  Union  lines." 

"  General,  for  God's  sake  tell  me  exactly  what's 
the  matter  with  her." 

"  She  has  a  flesh  wound  in  the  arm,  the  left,  an 
other  in  the  right  shoulder,  and  a  gash  across  the 
forehead — pretty  bad  for  a  woman,  but  we  wouldn't 
mind  it." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  We  left  her  with  General  Stuart." 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  horse?  " 

"  Well,  I'd  rather  give  you  anything  else,"  an 
swered  Hampton  frankly,  "  for  they're  scarcer 
than  hen's  teeth  and  .  .  ." 

"  I  must  get  a  horse!  "  said  Grafton.  "  I  must 
go  on." 

;<  Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  " 

"  Up  to  General  Stuart's  headquarters  to    .    .    ." 

"  I  see.  Well,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  get  one  for 
you.  I  think  there  are  two  or  three  spare  ones  be 
longing  to  me.  Take  any  one  you  wish.  ' 

"Will  you  sell  one?" 

"  No,"  said  the  general  decisively;  "  I  couldn't  put 


286  THE    PATRIOTS 

a  price  on  one.  If  we  both  get  out  of  this  war 
alive  you  can  give  me  another.  If  I  get  killed,  he's 
yours." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Grafton. 

"  Any  man  that's  got  a  wife  like  yours,  Grafton, 
can  have  anything  the  cavalry  can  give." 

Grafton  wrung  the  general's  hand  and  turned 
away.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  mounted  again 
and  riding  north  along  the  Blockhouse  Road.  It 
didn't  take  him  an  hour  to  find  the  place  where 
Stuart  ought  to  be,  but  he  was  not  there.  He  had 
distributed  the  regiments  of  his  reserve  brigade  where 
they  would  do  most  good  at  the  beginning  of  the 
battle,  and  then  had  rejoined  the  front.  No  one  at 
Alsops  knew  anything  about  Ariadne.  There  was 
nothing  for  Grafton  to  do  but  to  ride  on  and  find 
Stuart. 

He  found  him  surrounded  by  his  staff  on  a  little 
hill  which  commanded  a  view — so  far  as  a  view  could 
be  had  through  the  trees — for  several  miles  in  every 
direction.  In  front  of  him  in  the  woods  Fitz  Lee's 
line  was  engaged.  Grafton  dashed  up  to  him  and 
after  the  briefest  of  salutes,  such  was  his  anxiety, 
asked  him  where  his  wife  was. 

"  In  that  house  off  to  the  left  there  on  that  road 
yonder,  just  back  of  our  fighting  lines,"  returned  the 
general,  pointing  at  a  house  on  a  clearing  over  a  mile 
away. 

"Is  she  all  right,  sir?" 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  she  was  physically  utterly 
exhausted  by  all  she  had  gone  through;  in  the  sec 
ond,  she  has  three  nasty  little  wounds,  not  one  of 
them  serious,  but  very  annoying.  She  fainted  after 
she  delivered  your  message  last  night,  and  I  had  her 
carried  to  that  house,  which  I  noticed  at  dusk.  There 
was  an  old  negro  woman  there  who  hadn't  been 


THE    MAN    AGAINST   THE    GUN      287 

frightened  away  by  this  fighting,  and  she  promised 
to  take  care  of  her." 

'  You  have  had  General  Lee's  message,  I  see." 

"  Every  word  of  it.  I  tell  you  no  man  on  earth 
could  have  made  it  more  clear  than  that  magnificent 
girl.  By  Jove,  Graf  ton,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you 
have  a  wife  in  a  thousand,  and  if  she  ever  needs  help 
from  anybody  but  you,  I  am  hers  to  count  on." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Grafton;  "may  I  ride  over 
to  see  her?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Stuart.  "  I  think  you'd  better 
get  her  out  of  that  house,  if  you  can.  There's  a  road 
that  leads  up  past  it  and  I've  been  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  some  of  those  Yanks  make  their 
appearance  on  it.  I  have  no  troops,  not  even  a  man 
to  put  in  it  to  guard  it,  but  what  could  I  do?  I'm 
practically  surrounded  here  now.  You  know  the 
Yanks  are  in  force  at  the  Court  House." 

"  There  are  not  many  of  them  there,"  said  Graf- 
ton  confidently.  "  It  is  probably  a  division  of  Sheri 
dan's  cavalry." 

"  One  is  too  many  for  us  at  this  juncture.  But  if 
these  fellows  in  front  of  us  would  let  us  alone  we'd 
soon  clear  the  Court  House." 

"  Longstreet  and  Early  are  advancing  They 
should  be  here  some  time  to-day.  They'll  make  short 
work  of  them  if  you  can  only  hold  this  main  attack 
on  the  Brock  Road." 

"  My  men  don't  like  beetle  crushing,"  said  Stuart, 
"  but  by  Heaven  we'll  hold  the  Yanks  as  long  as 
there's  a  man  left  to  crawl  behind  a  log  and  pull  a 
trigger.  Eh,  Jim  ?  " 

He  turned  to  Breathed  as  he  spoke.  The  com 
mander  of  the  horse  artillery  laughed  softly. 

"  We're  just  waiting  for  orders  to  go  in,"  returned 
that  young  gunner. 


28  8  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  Breathed  is  my  last  reserve,  Grafton,"  said  Stuart 
familiarly;  "when  I  turn  him  loose  the  Yankees 
would  better  get  to  cover.  You  should  have  seen 
him  fight  yesterday  and  the  day  before  at  Todd's 
Tavern.  But  go  on,  man,  and  look  for  your  wife." 

Grafton  saluted  and  turned  away.  He  ran  rapidly 
down  the  hill  until  he  got  to  the  bypath  back  of  the 
hastily  improvised  breastworks  behind  which  the 
Confederates  were  holding  back  the  Union  advance. 
He  turned  to  the  right  and  darted  up  the  road.  A 
few  hundred  yards  away  there  was  a  large  clearing; 
a  great  house  had  been  in  the  centre  of  it  once,  but 
had  been  burned,  and  the  clearing  was  bare  of  build 
ings  save  for  one  little  whitewashed  negro  cottage.  It 
was  there  that  his  wife  had  been  taken. 

As  Grafton  approached  it  he  was  startled  beyond 
measure  to  observe  the  wood  on  the  edge  of  the 
clearing  several  hundred  feet  away  from  him  sud 
denly  alive  with  horses  and  men.  A  section  of  ar 
tillery  broke  through  the  trees  and  wheeled  to  the 
front.  Grafton  had  a  repeating  rifle  which  he  had 
taken  from  one  of  Harrington's  men. 

As  he  saw  the  gunners  prepare  to  fire  the  piece  he 
realised  that  they  had  got  in  such  a  position  that  they 
could  enfilade  and  make  untenable  the  right  of  Fitz 
Lee's  division,  which  had  not  observed  the  danger. 
Before  Grafton  could  ride  back  and  warn  the  men  the 
gun  would  open  fire. 

The  little  house  in  which  his  wife  lay  was  so  near 
the  line  of  fire  that  a  carelessly  aimed  shot  might 
demolish  it.  Grafton's  first  impulse  was  to  gallop 
to  the  house.  His  second  was  to  warn  Fitz  Lee. 
Neither  proposition  was  practicable.  There  was  but 
one  thing  he  could  do.  He  could  fight  the  battery. 
This  would  perhaps  save  his  wife,  alarm  Lee,  and 
bring  Stuart  to  the  rescue. 


THE    MAN   AGAINST   THE    GUN      289 

He  leaped  from  his  horse,  threw  the  bridle  over 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  and  stepped  out  in  the  open, 
rifle  in  hand.  The  weapon  was  a  brand  new  one  of 
the  latest  and  most  approved  pattern.  Grafton  had 
filled  his  pockets  with  cartridges,  and  he  was  a  dead 
shot.  He  took  deliberate  aim  and  pulled  the  trigger. 
One  of  the  cannoneers  fell.  Another  took  his  place 
and  Grafton  sped  another  bullet  into  the  group. 
Another  man  fell.  Now,  the  cannoneers  expected 
to  get  hit,  of  course.  They  had  deliberately  exposed 
themselves  in  the  dangerously  open  place  to  secure 
the  advantage  of  a  raking  fire,  but  as  one  after  an 
other  was  shot  down  before  their  gun  could  be  dis 
charged,  they  perceived  that  a  sharpshooter  of  some 
kind  had  their  range,  and  at  the  fourth  shot  they 
marked  him  standing  boldly  in  the  open  on  the  other 
side  of  the  clearing. 

There  were  no  infantry  supports  with  that  piece 
of  artillery  at  the  time;  some  bold  youngster — why 
was  it  that  most  of  the  artillery  commanders  in  both 
armies  were  such  young  men? — had  conceived  the 
desperate  design  and  was  carrying  it  out  on  his  own 
hook.  They  were  well  within  range  of  Graf  ton's 
rifle,  but  they  had  no  weapon  with  which  to  return 
his  fire  save  the  cannon.  The  place  was  untenable 
unless  that  pestilent  "  Johnny  "  standing  there  in  the 
open,  composedly  fighting  them,  could  be  put  out  of 
the  way. 

The  trail  piece  was  whirled  around  and  a  canister 
shot  which  had  been  intended  for  the  fighting  line  was 
fired  at  him.  In  their  hurry  their  aim  was  poor. 
By  a  miracle  Grafton  was  untouched  by  the  storm  of 
bullets.  He  fired  rapidly  again  and  again  into  the 
smoke,  making  some  of  his  shots  tell.  The  report  of 
that  cannon  called  the  attention  of  Stuart  to  that  end 
of  the  line.  Through  a  vista  in  the  trees  he  saw  the 


29o  THE    PATRIOTS 

whole  performance,  Grafton  standing  there  alone 
fighting  the  cannon.  He  could  see  more  than  Graf- 
ton,  too;  for  beyond  the  gun,  which  was  being  re 
loaded  for  another  discharge  against  the  lone  soldier, 
he  marked  other  sections  of  some  battery  and  a  heavy 
column  of  infantry,  or  dismounted  cavalry.  The 
Union  commander  had  quickly  backed  up  the  young 
artillerist's  audacious  move,  perceiving  the  impor 
tance  of  the  position. 

"  Breathed,". said  Stuart  to  his  subordinate,  "  look 
yonder  at  Grafton.  It's  up  to  you  now.  If  you 
don't  hold  those  fellows  back  we're  outflanked  and 
we'll  have  to  retire  in  a  hurry." 

Breathed,  his  eyes  shining,  had  already  turned  to 
his  men.  He  shouted  a  command  and  the  pieces 
raced  madly  down  the  hill.  After  a  moment's  hes 
itation  Stuart  followed  them.  He  was  met  halfway 
down  the  slope  by  a  staff  officer  from  the  front. 

"  General  Fitz  Lee's  compliments,  sir,  and  he  is 
outflanked  on  the  fight.  Unless  you  can  hold  back 
the  enemy  there,  sir,  he  will  have  to  retire." 

"  Tell  him  to  hold  on.  Breathed  and  I  will  attend 
to  the  right." 

The  officer  in  command  of  the  single  gun  on  the 
right  realised  that  it  was  a  waste  of  opportunity  to 
pay  any  more  attention  to  Grafton.  The  men  would 
have  to  stand  and  take  their  medicine  if  they  were 
not  to  lose  the  chance  of  crumpling  up  the  Rebel 
right.  The  gun  was  slewed  again  until  it  pointed 
into  the  woods  at  the  line  of  breastworks.  Although 
Grafton  kept  up  his  fire  with  telling  effect  the  cannon 
sent  a  screaming  charge  of  canister  into  the  open 
flank  of  Fitz  Lee's  men. 

They  rose  to  their  feet  and  began  to  give  back,  at 
the  same  time  the  Union  troops  in  front — dismounted 
cavalry,  like  their  antagonists — made  a  dashing 


THE    MAN   AGAINST   THE    GUN      291 

charge  upon  them.  The  fate  of  that  little  battle  de 
pended  on  that  instant.  Breathed's  guns  saved  the 
day.  They  whirled  into  action  on  the  edge  of  the 
clearing  and  concentrated  their  fire  upon  that  reckless 
gun.  It  was  knocked  to  pieces  and  dismounted  in 
an  instant. 

"  Well  done,  Breathed,"  cried  Stuart  as  he  marked 
the  effect  of  the  discharge;  "but  load,  load  quickly  1 
See,  here  they  come !  " 

Cannon  are  no  use  against  men  skirmishing  in  the 
open  or  against  a  single  individual,  like  Grafton,  but 
against  men  in  mass  at  a  proper  range  they  are  simply 
irresistible.  Breathed's  brawny  gunners,  throwing 
off  their  coats  and  standing  naked  to  the  waist, 
worked  their  guns  like  demons.  The  advance  of 
Warren's  corps,  the  Sixth,  broke  through  the  trees 
in  dense  columns.  They  were  trying  to  outflank  the 
Confederate  lines.  Breathed's  guns  hurled  canister 
and  shell  into  them,  tearing  up  the  front  in  fearful 
gaps  and  driving  them  back  into  the  woods  again. 

But  no  cannon  unsupported  by  infantry  can  fight 
infantry  very  long.  The  position  the  Federals  had 
won,  and  to  gain  which  they  must  have  wiped  out 
Colonel  Green's  regiment,  was  such  as  to  render  un 
tenable  Fitz  Lee's  line.  Supported  by  Breathed,  the 
Confederates  on  the  right  had  beaten  off  the  Federal 
charge,  and  Stuart  took  advantage  of  the  respite  to 
withdraw  his  line  some  distance  back  where  his  right 
was  covered  by  a  high  hill.  Here  the  Confederates 
entrenched  again  with  skill  begot  of  long  experience, 
and  here  the  little  battle  was  continued  until  the  ar 
rival  of  the  head  of  Longstreet's  corps  changed  the 
state  of  affairs. 

The  Federal  advance  was  checked,  their  troops 
were  driven  out  of  Spottsylvania  Court  House  by 
Longstreet's  rear  divisions,  and  Hampton,  who  had 


292  THE    PATRIOTS 

been  engaged  In  holding  back  the  Federal  troops  on 
the  Catharpin  Road  until  Early's  men  seized  it,  re 
tired,  and  the  cavalry  corps  was  united  again. 

With  them  was  Graf  ton,  frantic  with  anxiety.  He 
would  have  run  across  the  zone  of  fire  to  the  little 
house  to  which  his  wife  had  been  taken  had  not 
Stuart  held  him  back  by  main  force. 

"  You  can  do  her  no  good,"  cried  the  general. 
"  It's  sure  death  to  go  out  there,  and  you're  too  good 
a  man  for  us  to  lose.  God  will  take  care  of  her. 
You  can  do  no  more." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   MERCY   OF  THE   GREAT   CAPTAIN 

GENERAL  LEE  arrived  at  Spottsylvania  Court  House 
on  the  9th.  To  him  Grafton  at  once  reported. 

"  Captain  Grafton,"  said  the  general,  "  I  find  Gen 
eral  Stuart  has  carried  out  my  orders.  It  is  evident 
that  my  message  was  delivered.  I  have  heard  from 
others  of  the  brilliant  fighting  of  the  cavalry,  and  that 
they  have  succeeded  in  holding  back  the  Union  ad 
vance  and  giving  us  this  place  is  due  in  large  measure 
to  your  intelligent  carrying  out  of  my  orders.  I  shall 
recommend  you  for  promotion.  The  service  you 
have  rendered  your  country  has  been  invaluable, 
sir." 

"  General  Lee,"  said  Grafton,  paling  under  his 
sunburn,  "I  .  .  I  .  .  ." 

"  What  is  it,  Captain?  "  asked  Lee  kindly. 

"  I  deserve  nothing  .  .  nothing  .  .  of 
what  you  have  said,  sir." 

"Were  not  my  orders  given  to  General  Stuart?" 

"  They  were,  sir." 

"  Did  not  you     .     .     ." 

"  But  not  by  me." 

"By  whom,  then?" 

"  By  my  wife,  General  Lee." 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"  I  have  to  confess  a  dereliction  of  duty,  sir." 

"  Explain  yourself,  Captain  Grafton." 

It  was  a  hard  thing  to  have  to  face  that  incarnate 
greatness,  by  whom  the  sacrifice  of  Brutus,  or  of 
Virginius,  if  it  had  been  required,  would  have  been 

293 


294  THE    PATRIOTS 

cheerfully  emulated,  and  confess  that  which  Grafton's 
honour  compelled  him  to  disclose. 

"  After  leaving  you,  General,"  he  began  desper 
ately,  "  I  met  with  no  adventure  until  I  reached  the 
Catharpin  Road.  I  concluded  to  try  that  in  the  hope 
that  the  Federal  troops  had  not  occupied  Todd's 
Tavern,  and  I  could  save  a  great  deal  of  time  that 
way.  About  halfway  to  the  tavern  I  heard  a  woman 
scream  for  help.  Just  where  a  small  branch  road 
turns  out  of  the  Catharpin  Road  to  the  left.  I 
stopped  .  .  ." 

The  general  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can  understand  the  appeal  of  a  woman  in  trou 
ble,"  he  said,  "  but  there  are  times  .  .  go  on, 
sir." 

"  I  am  happy  to  say,  sir,  that  I  did  not  turn  aside 
from  the  road  at  first,  although  to  refrain  from  it 
was  the  hardest  task  I  ever  essayed." 

"  You  did  well." 

"  But,  sir,  as  I  started  on  a  man  burst  out  of  the 
bushes,  a  negro,  and  begged  me  to  come  to  the  rescue 
of  his  mistress,  who  was  in  the  hands  of  guerrillas. 
You  know  what  that  meant?  " 

"  I  know,"  answered  the  general. 

"  What  I  should  have  done  I  cannot  say,  but  I 
recognised  the  man  as  Judge  Lewis'  former  body- 
servant,  who  had  been  with  my  wife.  He  said  that 
it  was  she  who  was  in  danger.  I  had  not  seen  her 
for  a  year  .  .  she  had  disappeared  .  .  I 
forgot  .  .  everything.  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse, 
dashed  up  the  road  a  short  distance,  turned  into  the 
clearing,  and  found  her  struggling  in  the  arms  of 
some  human  brutes.  I  surprised  them,  managed  to 
kill  two  or  three  and  took  shelter  in  the  house  with 
her.  They  tried  to  storm  the  house,  then  burn  it. 
They  would  have  killed  both  of  us  had  not  a  squadron 


MERCY    OF   THE   GREAT    CAPTAIN     295 

of  Union  cavalry  come  up  the  road  and  put  an  end  to 
the  whole  thing.  They  saved  our  lives  .  .  my 
wife's  honour  .  .  but  captured  me." 

"But  the  orders?     How  were  they  delivered?'* 

"  They  did  not  hold  my  wife  prisoner.  Before 
they  took  me  away  I  told  her  what  you  told  me. 
She  knew  the  country  thoroughly.  She  had  been  liv 
ing  there  since  she  left  Richmond,  and  she  compre 
hended  everything  wonderfully.  She  said  she  would 
deliver  the  orders  to  General  Stuart." 

"And  did  so?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Late  that  night  the  detachment  of 
horse  covering  General  Early's  advance  had  the 
good  luck  to  capture  that  Union  party  on  the  Cath- 
arpin  Road.  I  was  released,  got  a  horse  and  rode 
on  to  General  Stuart.  I  found  him  yesterday  morn 
ing.  He  told  me,  as  General  Hampton  had  en  route, 
that  my  wife  had  delivered  the  message  late  the  night 
before.  I  was  present  in  the  fight  that  took  place 
while  he  was  holding  back  the  Union  advance. 
That's  all,  sir.  I  know  that  I  should  have  placed 
the  orders  above  everything  else." 

The  general  nodded  his  head. 

"  And  that  by  turning  aside  even  for  the  most 
powerful  personal  appeal  I  jeoparded  their  delivery," 
continued  Grafton  accusingly.  "  And  that  if  the 
orders  were  not  delivered  in  some  way  the  safety  of 
the  army  would  be  seriously  jeoparded  and  our  coun 
try  perhaps  ruined." 

The  general  stared  at  his  young  subordinate  with 
a  steady,  intent  gaze  and  a  somewhat  forbidding 
countenance,  but  he  said  nothing.  What  he  would 
better  do  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  He  waited  further 
developments  without  interrupting  his  already  over 
whelmed  staff  officer. 

"  No  one  can  accuse  me  more  severely  than  I  do 


296  THE    PATRIOTS 

myself,  sir,"  continued  poor  Grafton,  writhing  in 
spirit  in  the  situation,  "  and  I  place  myself  in  your 
hands  for  any  disposition  you  may  wish  to  make  of 


me." 


"  General  Stuart's  compliments,  and  he  would  like 
to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Taylor,  at  that  moment 
coming  into  the  tent  in  which  this  conversation  was 
taking  place. 

"  Beg  him  to  enter  at  once,"  said  Lee,  with  that 
unvarying  courtesy  which  distinguished  him  on  all 
occasions. 

"  Shall  I  withdraw,  sir?  "  asked  Grafton. 

"  Wait." 

An  instant  later  the  opening  of  the  tent  framed  a 
splendid  picture.  Stuart  was  the  beau  ideal  of  a 
cavalryman  and  a  cavalier.  His  uniform  was  beau 
tifully  made  of  the  finest  English  broadcloth.  It 
fitted  him  like  a  glove.  By  some  miracle  he  had  kept 
it  reasonably  clean  amid  the  dust  and  exposure  of 
the  hard  campaign.  The  lace  was  slightly  tarnished, 
but  it  was  lace  still.  His  faithful  servant  had  used 
every  opportunity  to  keep  his  high  cavalry  boots,  the 
tops  of  which  were  embroidered  in  gold,  brilliantly 
polished.  From  the  hat  which  he  held  in  his  buff 
gauntleted  hand  a  long  scarlet  plume  depended.  It 
was  held  in  place  by  a  gold  star.  With  his  blue  eyes, 
blond  hair  and  laughing  mouth  he  was  a  splendid 
sight  to  look  upon. 

He  was  in  great  contrast  to  Lee.  They  were 
both  men  of  handsome  type,  but  different.  One 
was  dashing,  light-hearted,  careless,  free  and  easy, 
a  bold  rider  and  hard  fighter,  a  splendid  horse 
man.  The  other  was  a  tremendous  personality 
of  such  strength,  dignity  and  power  that  he  tow 
ered  like  a  Roman  imperator  among  his  brilliant 
contemporaries. 


MERCY    OF   THE   GREAT    CAPTAIN     297 

"  Congratulations,  Stuart,  on  the  brilliant  way  in 
which  you  carried  out  my  orders.  It  is  due  entirely 
to  your  splendid  fighting  and  your  quick  comprehen 
sion  of  my  plans  that  we  are  able  to  reach  this  most 
advantageous  position.  We  should  have  been  out 
flanked  but  for  you." 

'  When  you  lay  a  plan,  General,  we're  the  boys 
to  carry  it  out,"  said  Stuart,  smiling  with  pleasure; 
"and  if  I  may  take  the  liberty,  I  congratulate  you  on 
the  choice  of  a  messenger." 

"Captain  Grafton?"  asked  Lee  interrogatively. 

"  Oh,  Grafton  be  hang  .  .  beg  pardon,  Grafton 
.  .  I  refer  to  Captain  Grafton's  wife,  General 
Lee.  She  got  through  the  Union  lines,  was  three 
times  wounded,  and  yet  arrived  safely  and  delivered 
the  orders.  She  had  a  terrible  time  of  it,  but  it  takes 
Southern  women  to  do  things  like  that.  If  the  sup 
ply  of  men  gives  out,  as  it  most  likely  will,  I  propose 
that  we  ask  the  women  to  '  Jine  the  cavalry,'  "  said 
Stuart,  chuckling,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  humming 
the  first  bar  of  that  merry  little  chorus. 

But  General  Lee  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling. 

"  General  Stuart,"  he  said,  "  I  gave  the  orders  to 
Captain  Grafton.  I  impressed  upon  him  the  neces 
sity  of  delivering  them  without  delay  and  at  all 
hazards.  I  enjoined  him  to  let  nothing  whatsoever 
distract  him  from  his  purpose  for  a  moment  even. 
I  pointed  out  to  him  that  upon  the  delivery  of  those 
orders  and  your  carrying  them  out  depended  the  sal 
vation  of  the  army,  the  Confederacy.  Captain 
Grafton  heard  a  woman  scream  for  help  along  the 
Catharpin  Road.  Although  it  was  his  business  to 
deliver  those  orders  and  to  allow  nothing  to  deter 
him,  he  turned  to  succour  this  woman." 

"Who  was  this  woman,  may  I  ask,  General?" 
questioned  Stuart. 


298  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  My  wife,"  said  Grafton,  standing  very  erect, 
clenching  his  hands  to  keep  back  his  emotions. 

"  Did  you  know  that  she  was  your  wife  when  you 
went  to  her?  " 

"  I  did." 

Stuart  turned  to  Lee,  a  look  of  pity  and  appeal  in 
his  eyes. 

General  Lee  went  on  in  measured  tones. 

"  Captain  Grafton  had  not  seen  his  wife  for  nearly 
a  year.  She  had  left  him  at  Gettysburg,  for  reasons 
which  do  not  reflect  upon  her  or  him,  and  which  we 
will  not  go  into  further  .  .  which  you  will  not 
refer  to,  of  course  .  .  ."  Stuart  nodded.  "  When 
this  appeal  was  made  to  him  he  plunged  aside  to 
rescue  her  from  imminent  danger  to  life." 

.  "  And    honour,"  Grafton    ventured  to  interrupt 
again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  don't  forget  that,  Gen 
eral,"  urged  Stuart,  perceiving  whither  all  this 
tended. 

"  I  shall  not,"  returned  Lee,  who  wished  above  all 
things  to  state  the  case  fairly.  "  He  was  captured,  of 
course,  and  prevented  from  delivering  that  message. 
Indeed  his  wife  barely  managed  to  get  it  to  you. 
Captain  Grafton,  seeing  that  his  wife  was  not  to  be 
made  prisoner,  told  her  the  orders  and  she  promised 
to  deliver  them.  In  some  way  she  managed  to  get 
through." 

"  She  looked  as  if  she  had  been  drawn  through 
death  and  destruction  when  she  came  fainting  into 
my  camp,"  said  Stuart. 

"  She  is  an  honour  to  Virginia,  to  the  whole  South, 
and  the  story  of  her  ride,  when  it  is  known,  will  be 
an  inspiration  to  the  soldiers  of  the  army,"  went  on 
Lee  gravely.  "  Being  ignorant  of  the  circumstances, 
I  had  just  congratulated  Captain  Grafton  upon  his 


MERCY    OF   THE   GREAT    CAPTAIN     299 

brilliant  achievement.  He  very  honourably  told  me 
the  story  I  have  told  you  and  placed  himself  in  my 
hands.  He  has  committed  a  serious  breach  of  mili 
tary  duty.  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?  " 

Undue  leniency  was  General  Lee's  greatest  fault. 
It  was  the  one  blemish  upon  his  brilliant  record  as  a 
leader  that  he  sometimes  seemed  to  lack  that  ruth- 
lessness  which  measures  out  well-merited  severity  to 
subordinates  who  jeoparded  the  safety  of  a  cause  by 
incompetency  or  contumacy.  He  knew  that  he  was 
severely  blamed  for  this  mistaken  mercy,  and  in  this 
instance  he  really  wished  some  encouragement  to  be 
kind  and  overlook  Grafton's  breach.  Hence  his  sud 
den  reference  of  the  matter  to  Stuart.  From  one 
point  of  view  Lee  could  not  have  appealed  to  a  worse 
man  than  the  impulsive  gallant  chief  of  cavalry. 
From  another  point  of  view  there  was  no  better  to 
whom  to  leave  the  decision. 

"Do?"  blurted  out  the  cavalryman.  "Forgive 
him,  for  his  wife's  sake,  sir." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  forgiven  for  my  wife's  sake," 
said  Grafton  haughtily.  "  I  know  what  I  have  done, 
and  that  I  merit  punishment." 

"  Grafton,"  said  General  Lee  suddenly,  "  were  the 
thing  to  be  done  over  again,  would  you  heed  such 
an  appeal  from  your  wife  again?  " 

Grafton  answered  without  hesitation. 

"  God  forgive  me,  sir,  I  couldn't  resist  it." 

"  It  may  be  all  wrong  from  a  military  point  of 
view,  General,"  said  Stuart  quickly,  "  but  if  I  had 
a  man  in  my  division  who  wouldn't  have  done  the 
same  thing  to  prevent  his  wife  from  being  outraged 
by  those  ruffians,  I'd  have  him  cashiered  and  driven 
out." 

Lee  put  up  his  hand. 

"  There  speaks  the  cavalier,"  he  said  reprovingly, 


300  THE    PATRIOTS 

yet  fully  understanding  the  other's  feeling.  "  It's 
not  in  that  way  battles  are  won  and  causes  established. 
Grafton  was  wrong,  but  the  temptation  was  terrible. 
The  appeal  was  a  fearful  one,  I  grant  and  I  ..." 

"  General,  one  moment,  please.  Did  you  know 
that  Captain  Grafton  finally  reached  me  and  that 
single-handed  he  fought  a  section  of  artillery  alone?  " 

;'  What  do  you  mean,  General  Stuart?  " 

"  I  put  his  wife  in  a  little  cottage  beyond  Alsops. 
She  was  in  no  condition  to  move,  and  I  had  to  leave 
her  there  under  the  care  of  a  negro  woman.  When 
Grafton  did  join  me  on  the  morning  after  his  wife 
delivered  the  message,  he  wanted  to  know  where  she 
was.  I  told  him  off  to  the  left  of  our  line.  He  rode 
down  there  to  see  her.  The  Yanks  rushed  a  section 
of  artillery  to  enfilade  the  line.  They  would  have 
smashed  in  General  Fitz  Lee's  right  with  terrible  loss 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Grafton.  He  had  a  repeating 
rifle  that  he  got  from  some  Yankees  when  he  was  re 
captured  and  he  stood  out  there  in  the  open  and  fought 
that  gun  alone  until  Breathed's  artillery  came  up.  I 
saw  him,  sir.  They  just  got  there  in  the  nick  of  time, 
too,  for  Warren's  corps  broke  into  the  clearing,  and 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  delay  that  Grafton  caused, 
Breathed's  battery  would  not  have  been  there  to  hold 
back  this  charge.  They  would  have  got  Fitz  Lee 
enfiladed  and  have  torn  my  lines  to  pieces  in  spite  of 
all  we  could  do.  In  that  case,  General,  you  wouldn't 
be  where  you  are  to-day." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  of  this,  Captain  Graf- 
ton?  "  asked  Lee. 

"  It  had  no  bearing  on  my  previous  action,  sir," 
said  Grafton  simply. 

11 1  see." 

"  And  I  must  admit  that  I  was  fighting  as  much 
for  my  wife  as  for  the  cause.  I  was  afraid  a  shot 


MERCY    OF   THE   GREAT    CAPTAIN     301 

from  that  gun  would  strike  the  house  and  kill 
her." 

"  That's  not  all,  General,"  continued  Stuart. 
"  He  fought  like  a  tiger  with  the  guns.  Major 
Breathed  told  me  himself,  and  I  was  a  witness  to  it. 
They  drove  Warren's  division  back,  but  they  brought 
up  heavier  artillery  and  forced  me  to  retire  to  a 
second  line.  That  open  space  was  swept  by  a  tor 
rent  of  bullets.  He  wanted  to  go  out  in  that  fire  and 
get  his  wife,  or  at  least  die  with  her.  I  told  him  he 
was  too  good  a  man  to  lose  and  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  stay  with  us,  and  he  remained." 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Grafton  now?"  asked  Lee. 

Stuart  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  I  suppose  she's  killed,  sir,"  said  Grafton,  chok 
ing  back  a  sob.  "  I  could  stand  her  death,  but  .  ." 
He  stopped,  unable  to  go  on. 

"  I  pray  God  she  has  escaped,"  said  Lee.  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  young  captain.  "  Come, 
it  was  wrong,  I  must  say  that.  But  you  atoned  amply 
by  your  gallantry  in  this  action.  I  pardon  you  freely. 
Your  wife's  ride  has  saved  your  honour,  and  your 
rank.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  You  will  not 
discuss  this  conversation  with  any  one,  General 
Stuart?" 

"  Never." 

"  And  I  shall  be  equally  reticent,"  said  Lee  kindly. 
He  was  always  happy  to  do  a  kind  act,  and  he  only 
wanted  an  excuse  to  pardon  Grafton.  The  young 
officer  could  have  gone  on  his  knees  to  his  adored 
chieftain.  He  only  shook  his  hand  and  turned  away. 
Stuart  grasped  his  great  commander  by  the  hand  and 
shook  it  vigorously. 

"  By  heavens,"  he  exclaimed,  "  General,  it's  -no 
wonder  the  whole  army,  from  the  highest  down, 
would  be  glad  to  die  for  you  I  " 


302  THE    PATRIOTS 

Lee  smiled,  and  the  smile  was  a  rare  one  in  those 
days  of  trouble,  and  turned  to  Grafton  again. 

"  Don't  give  up,"  he  said;  "  I  have  a  feeling  that 
Mrs.  Grafton  will  be  restored  to  you.  She  has  done 
much  for  her  country,  and  we  may  hope  and  pray 
that  God  has  her  in  His  keeping." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  Grafton  answered;  "  and,  General 
Stuart,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  her 
and  to  me." 

'  Now,  Stuart,  what  next?"  said  Lee,  as  Grafton 
shook  Stuart's  hand  in  turn. 

"  With  your  permission,  sir,  now  that  I've  got  my 
rough  riders  mounted  and  together  again,  I'd  like  to 
go  after  Sheridan,  who  is  heading  for  Richmond,  I 
believe." 

"  Go,  and  may  God  go  with  you,"  answered  the 
general  solemnly. 

The  two  generals  shook  hands  once  more.  Stuart 
nodded  to  Grafton  and  left  the  tent.  They  heard 
him  humming  as  he  left  headquarters  his  favorite 
air,  "  Jine  the  cavalry."  They  both  thought  of  his 
gay,  ardent  nature,  his  brilliant  bearing,  when  three 
days  later  the  news  came  that  he  had  died,  as  he 
craved,  at  the  head  of  his  men  in  the  bloody  battle 
with  Sheridan  at  Yellow  Tavern. 

Grafton  went  out  of  the  tent  presently,  an  utterly 
hopeless  and  desperate  man.  Lee  had  not  reassured 
him.  The  cup  of  happiness  had  been  held  to  his  lips 
and  dashed  aside.  Ariadne  had  saved  Lee's  army; 
she  had  saved  the  Confederacy.  She  had  saved  her 
husband's  honour,  but  she  was  gone !  He  could  not 
escape  the  conclusion  that  she  had  laid  down  her  life 
for  those  three  great  things,  that  as  she  had  lived  to 
love  him,  so  she  had  died  to  save  him.  The  anguish 
of  separation  had  been  great.  The  days  in  which  he 
had  craved  a  sight  of  her,  longed  for  the  moment 


MERCY    OF   THE   GREAT    CAPTAIN     303 

when  he  could  tell  her  that  he  had  made  a  great  mis 
take  and  that  he  loved  her,  had  been  almost  unendur 
able,  but  they  were  nothing  to  the  mental  torture  he 
had  to  endure  now. 

He  found  relief  in  nothing  but  action.  Lee,  under 
standing  this,  kept  him  busy.  He  was  with  the 
general  in  the  trenches  at  Spottsylvania  on  the  night  of 
the  nth  of  May.  There  had  been  prodigies  of 
fighting  all  along  the  great  crescent  of  the  Confeder 
ate  lines  covering  the  position  Lee  had  elected  to 
defend,  and  every  time  the  overwhelming  assaults 
of  the  Federals  had  been  beaten  back  with  terrific 
loss,  although  the  defenders  had  by  no  means  paid 
little  for  the  line  to  which  they  so  tenaciously  clung. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE   SALIENT  IN  THE   LINE 

THE  Confederate  linds  at  Spottsylvania  Court  House 
were  traced  in  the  shape  of  a  great  irregular  crescent 
which  ran  roughly  from  west  to  east  for  half  their 
length  and  then  bent  around  to  the  south,  the  chord 
of  the  arc  connecting  the  two  ends  of  the  circle  being 
about  four  miles  long.  Nearly  in  the  middle  of  the 
line,  or  at  the  north-east  point  of  it,  a  tremendous 
salient  half  a  mile  wide  at  its  base  ran  the  same  dis 
tance  almost  due  north  and  south,  culminating  in  a 
blunt  obtuse  angle.  The  existence  of  such  a  salient 
in  such  a  line  was  a  grave  mistake.  Its  one  advan 
tage  was  that  it  was  an  excellent  position  for  artillery. 
The  Confederate  lines  had  been  formed  under  fire, 
however,  an4  in  running  them  in  the  somewhat  hap 
hazard  methods  necessitated  by  the  fact  that  they  had 
to  be  placed  during  action,  advantage  had  been  taken 
of  the  topography  of  the  land,  which  had  been  fol 
lowed,  as  was  usually  the  case,  in  disregard  of  strict 
engineering  principles.  Wherever  the  ground  was 
found  to  be  defensible  the  trained  soldiers  usually 
seized  upon  it  and  rapidly  threw  up  temporary  breast 
works,  which,  when  connected  with  other  similar 
coigns  of  vantage,  and  strengthened,  constituted  the 
main  line  which  the  army  must  defend.  Nor  had 
there  been  in  the  two  days  of  continuous  battle  much 
opportunity  for  rectifying  the  crooked,  irregular  lines. 
The  tremendous  assaults  delivered  by  Grant  and  his 
overwhelming  force  could  only  be  resisted  by  the 
most  superhuman  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  Confed- 

304 


THE   SALIENT   IN    THE   LINE       305 

crates.  They  had  no  time  for  anything  but  fighting. 
To  cling  to  the  line  they  had  made  was  a  necessity. 
And  it  was  commonly  observed  that  when  the  men 
selected  their  own  line  they  held  it  better  than  when 
it  was  traced  by  the  engineers.  They  seemed  to  feel 
a  certain  affection  as  well  as  a  responsibility  for  it, 
and  it  was  difficult  or  impossible  to  dislodge  them 
from  it. 

Lee  was  as  keenly  alive  as  his  officers  to  the  vul 
nerability  of  the  salient,  and  had  given  orders  that  a 
line  of  works  should  be  built  across  its  rear,  so  that  in 
case  of  necessity  it  could  be  abandoned  without  im 
pairing  his  main  line  of  defence.  Such  few  men  as 
could  be  spared  from  the  fighting  line  had  been  at 
work  upon  these  new  lines,  but  they  were  yet  in  a  very 
incomplete  state.  Meanwhile  the  works  in  the  sa 
lient  had  been  strengthened  by  the  men  who  held  it 
until  they  were  the  most  formidable  in  the  whole  line 
— which  was  proper,  as  the  position  naturally  invited 
attack.  The  non-military  reader  will  understand  that 
once  a  line  is  effectively  broken  at  any  one  spot  the 
whole  line  becomes  untenable,  and  the  defending 
army  must  retreat  under  circumstances  of  terrible  dis 
advantage,  or  be  broken  to  pieces  and  annihilated 
where  they  are. 

Grant,  in  the  previous  fighting,  had  tried  both 
flanks  of  the  line,  and,  finding  them  impregnable,  had 
decided  to  concentrate  a  force  and  endeavour  to  break 
the  line  at  the  tempting  salient.  For  this  purpose  he 
selected  Hancock's  corps.  There  was  no  finer  corps 
in  his  army  than  the  famous  Second  Corps  com 
manded  by  Winfield  Scott  Hancock;  indeed,  there 
was  no  more  splendid  body  of  fighters  in  the  Army  of 
North  Virginia  itself  than  those  Hancock  had  led 
in  so  many  battles.  By  natural  selection  under  fire 
he  had  assembled  a  body  of  soldiers  who  would  go 


306  THE    PATRIOTS 

anywhere  and  do  anything  that  a  captain  could  ask 
of  humanity.  They  may  be  fitly  compared  to  Pick- 
ett's  famous  Virginia  division.  And  it  may  be  re 
membered  that  it  was  Hancock's  men  upon  whom  the 
assault  at  Gettysburg  had  fallen,  and  it  was  they  who 
had  repulsed  the  famous  charge. 

The  heavy  losses  of  the  Federal  troops  were  con 
stantly  made  good  by  the  arrival  of  fresh  troops — 
when  Lee  lost  a  man  his  place  could  not  be  filled. 
Consequently  Hancock  was  able  to  bring  to  the  as 
sault  the  full  strength  of  his  corps,  numbering  in  all 
perhaps  twenty  thousand  men.  Early  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  nth  of  May  he  was  ordered  to  withdraw 
form  his  position  on  the  extreme  right,  pass  around 
the  rear  of  Warren's  and  Sedgwick's  corps,  who  were 
to  extend  and  occupy  his  abandoned  lines,  to  the 
Brown  Farm,  a  clearing  about  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  due  north  of  the  apex  of  the  Confederate  sa 
lient.  The  open  ground  extended  from  Brown's 
Farmhouse  to  the  face  of  the  salient,  the  distance 
between  the  bordering  groves  of  trees  on  either  side 
being  about  four  hundred  yards. 

The  advance  of  Hancock's  troops  reached  the 
Brown  Farmhouse  about  midnight.  The  march  had 
been  made  over  a  terrible  road  in  a  pouring  rain. 
The  weather  conditions  would  have  taken  the  mettle 
out  of  any  but  veteran  and  tried  soldiery.  The  night 
was  dark  as  pitch.  Hancock  spent  the  hours  until 
four  o'clock,  the  designated  moment,  in  placing  his 
men.  When  the  time  for  the  assault  arrived  it  was 
still  too  dark  to  see,  and  he  therefore  waited  until 
four-thirty-five.  Taking  directions  from  a  white 
farmhouse,  the  McCool  house,  seen  dimly  just  within 
the  Confederate  lines,  at  that  moment  he  ordered  the 
advance. 

With  Barlow's  division  in  two  close  lines  of  masses, 


THE    SALIENT   IN    THE    LINE       307 

Brooke's  and  Miles'  brigades  in  front,  Brown's  and 
Smyth's  in  the  second  line;  with  Birney's  division  in 
two  double  lines  of  battle  on  Barlow's  right;  with 
Mott's  division  in  the  rear  of  Birney,  and  Gibbon's 
division  in  reserve,  the  order  was  given  to  march 
forward.  There  were  no  obstacles  in  front  of  Bar 
low's  division,  his  way  being  where  the  ground  was 
open  and  clear.  Birney's  division  had  to  wade 
through  a  morass  and  force  its  way  through  a  rather 
open  piece  of  woods.  By  hard  marching  they  kept 
abreast  of  the  troops  in  the  open  and  all  approached 
the  salient  together.  As  they  converged  upon  it  they 
naturally  crowded  together  in  masses  of  increasing 
density. 

Certain  threatening  movements  of  Grant's  left, 
made  for  the  purpose,  had  caused  Lee  to  believe  that 
the  next  attack  would  fall  on  the  right  of  his  own 
line.  He  had  therefore  withdrawn  most  of  the  ar 
tillery  from  Ewell's  troops,  who  held  the  salient. 
During  the  early  part  of  the  night  General  Edward 
Johnson,  who  commanded  the  division  at  the  apex, 
had  become  convinced  that  his  own  front  was  men 
aced,  and  he  had  sent  to  Lee  and  asked  for  the  return 
of  the  guns.  Accordingly,  orders  had  been  sent  to 
the  artillery  to  be  back  at  the  salient  at  daybreak. 
The  batteries  were  even  then  coming  across  the  rough 
country  at  a  gallop.  The  men  in  Johnson's  division 
lay  behind  the  breastworks  ready  for  whatever  might 
be  demanded  of  them.  The  sentries  were  alert  and 
watchful.  Pickets  were  posted  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  in  front  of  the  lines. 

The  works  here  had  gradually  been  made  very 
strong.  The  usual  rough-and-ready  fortifications 
made  use  of  by  either  army  as  occasion  demanded 
were  merely  shallow  ditches  with  the  earth  piled  up 
in  front  of  them.  Around  the  salient,  however,  the 


308  THE    PATRIOTS 

trees  with  which  the  country  abounded  had  been  cut 
down  and  banked  with  earth  to  a  height  of  about 
four  feet.  Along  the  top  of  the  embankment  a  head- 
log  rose  on  stones,  or  wood  blocks,  so  as  to  leave  an 
open  space  of  about  three  or  four  inches  between  it 
and  the  crown  of  the  earthwork,  as  a  sort  of  continu 
ous  loophole  for  firing  through.  In  front  of  the 
work  there  was  a  rude  abattis,  or  slashing,  impro 
vised  from  sharpened  tree  branches;  not  much  of  a 
protection,  but  still  sufficient  to  annoy  and  perhaps 
check  an  assailing  enemy  when  backed  by  such  a  fire 
as  was  certain  to  come  from  the  veteran  defenders. 

The  ground  outside  the  lines  sloped  downward 
gently  for  about  forty  yards,  and  then  it  rose  in  still 
more  gentle  ascent  all  around  the  position.  Within 
the  salient  the  country  was  more  open,  although  the 
farms  and  meadows  were  interspersed  with  clumps 
of  trees.  Outside  the  lines,  save  for  two  or  three 
farms,  the  ground  was  marshy  and  heavily  wooded. 
Little  water  courses,  full  from  the  heavy  rains,  ran 
here  and  there. 

As  became  the  commander  of  the  most  advanced 
and  exposed  section  of  the  line,  Johnson  was  awake 
early  on  the  morning  of  the  fatal  I2th  of  May,  and 
was  engaged  in  an  inspection  of  his  men  and  lines  be 
fore  daybreak.  Mounting  the  works,  he  stared 
northward  through  the  grey,  dull  mist  of  the  morn 
ing — the  rain  had  stopped  for  the  time  being,  but  the 
mist  was  almost  heavy  enough  to  be  called  a  storm — 
toward  the  Union  lines.  As  he  did  so  his  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  distant  cheering.  It  came  to  him  dull 
and  faint  in  the  heavy,  sodden  air.  What  could  it 
mean?  Why  should  men  be  cheering  there  at  that 
hour?  There  was  no  snapping  of  pieces  from  his 
pickets — indeed  the  Union  advance  had  been  so  rapid 
through  the  dense  fog  that  the  men  in  the  advance 


THE    SALIENT   IN    THE    LINE       309 

simply  swallowed  up  the  guards  in  front  of  them  be 
fore  they  had  a  chance  to  fire — but  Johnson  was 
enough  of  a  soldier  to  realise  what  that  cheering, 
which  was  drawing  nearer,  meant.  The  assault  he 
had  anticipated  was  about  to  be  delivered.  Where 
were  those  missing  cannon?  He  threw  one  glance 
back  into  the  salient;  they  had  not  come.  It  was  day, 
and  they  were  not  here.  It  was  day  and  the  enemy 
was  at  hand.  He  would  have  given  his  life  for  the 
guns.  Well,  he  must  do  his  best  without  them. 

Instantly  orders  and  shouts  rang  along  the  Con 
federate  lines.  The  men  sleeping  on  their  arms  rose 
to  their  feet  and  made  ready.  For  a  moment  they 
stared  into  the  impenetrable  fog,  while  the  cheering 
came  nearer  and  rose  higher.  An  instant  later  and 
the  grey  cloud  was  tinged  with  blue.  An  instant  later 
and  dark  masses  of  men  shouldered  their  way  through 
the  mist,  buffeting  it  aside  as  the  bows  of  a  ship  a 
wave,  and  fell  like  an  avalanche  on  the  Confederate 
lines. 

Fortune  had  favoured  them.  They  had  reached 
so  near  the  lines  before  they  were  distinguished  that 
although  the  breastworks  blazed  with  sudden  fire  on 
the  instant  and  many  fell,  the  momentum  of  the  solid 
mass  of  twenty  thousand  men  struck  the  line  as  a 
great  breaker  crashes  upon  a  shore.  The  first  ranks 
of  the  assailants  were  beaten  into  a  human  spray;  men 
stumbled  and  fell  in  the  abattis,  only  to  be  trampled 
into  human  pulp  by  their  oncrowding  comrades,  as 
the  wave  of  inundation  swelled  on,  merciless,  irresist 
ible,  overwhelming.  The  human  torrent  crushed 
through  the  abattis,  surged  over  the  breastworks  and, 
bayonet  in  hand,  fell  upon  Johnson's  men.  The 
fighting  was  close  and  ghastly — with  the  bayonet 
mainly.  The  Confederates  resisted  desperately,  but 
no  line  of  five  thousand  that  were  ever  mustered  could 


3io  THE    PATRIOTS 

contend  with  four  times  their  number  in  mass,  es 
pecially  when  without  cannon.  In  a  short  time  those 
who  were  not  killed  or  wounded  were  captured; 
included  in  the  latter  category  were  Johnson  and  an 
other  Steuart,  the  two  general  officers.  There  had 
been  no  surprise,  simply  a  mighty,  irresistible  smash 
through,  a  weak  point  brilliantly  if  unsuccessfully  de 
fended.  The  long  lines  of  dead  indicated  the  vigour 
and  persistence  of  the  defence.  Their  valour  had 
been  unavailing,  however,  for  Hancock  had  at  last 
broken  the  line ! 

Back  of  the  second  line  of  entrenchments  that  were 
being  thrown  across  the  base  of  the  salient  Lee  had 
his  headquarters.  The  sound  of  the  battle  in  the 
early  morning  apprised  him  of  what  was  happening. 
There  was  not  a  continuous  roar  of  small  arms  punc 
tured  by  artillery,  but  one  long  smashing  volley,  and 
then  a  strange  sort  of  silence  broken  only  by  spatter 
ing  shots,  by  yells  and  cheers  that  came  to  him  faintly. 
He  understood  instantly.  It  could  only  mean  that 
the  Union  troops  were  over  the  line  and  using  the 
bayonet.  There  was  no  time  or  room  for  musket 
or  gun  fire.  So  swift  and  so  sudden  had  been  the 
terrible  onslaught  in  the  fog  that  but  two  of  John 
son's  remaining  guns  had  been  able  to  fire  a  shot  be 
fore  they  were  all  captured. 

It  was  evident  to  Lee  that  his  line  was  broken. 
Just  where  and  in  what  force  the  enemy  were  he  could 
not  yet  decide.  Some  place  on  the  salient,  of  course. 
A  staff  officer  from  the  front  galloped  up  and  con 
firmed  the  news.  In  his  excitement,  with  pardonable 
exaggeration,  he  declared  that  there  must  be  forty 
thousand  men  already  within  the  Confederate  lines 
and  that  they  had  complete  possession  of  the  whole 
salient.  Sending  his  staff  officers  in  every  direction 
to  summon  reinforcements,  Lee  galloped  through 


THE    SALIENT   IN    THE   LINE       311 

numbers  of  flying  stragglers,  whom  he  attempted  in 
vain  to  rally,  toward  the  salient.  Gordon's  division 
had  been  previously  ordered  to  reinforce  Swell's 
troops  in  the  expectation  of  some  such  catastrophe  as 
this,  and  Lee  knew  that  they  were  stationed  near  the 
base  of  the  salient.  They  were  the  troops  which  had 
been  erecting  the  second  line  of  defence.  Followed 
by  a  single  staff  officer — Grafton — Lee,  on  Traveller, 
his  famous  grey  horse,  rode  at  a  tearing  gallop  for 
this  splendid  division. 

And  well  he  might  ride  fast  and  hard,  for  if  the 
Federal  troops  had  succeeded  in  seizing  the  salient, 
unless  they  could  be  driven  out  of  it,  or  confined  to 
the  positions  which  they  had  now  taken  until  the  new 
line  of  breastworks  at  the  rear  of  the  salient  had  been 
so  far  completed  that  it  could  be  held,  the  army  of 
Northern  Virginia  was  irretrievably  ruined.  If 
Grant  could  maintain  his  advantage  and  pour  in  his 
troops  through  that  gap,  by  turning  to  the  right  or 
left,  as  the  case  might  be,  they  could  take  the  Con 
federate  lines  in  reverse,  and  no  troops  on  earth  could 
resist  them.  The  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  the 
Confederacy,  would  end  right  then  and  there.  In 
deed  it  might  be  too  late  to  save  the  army  even  by 
such  prodigies  of  valour  as  he  might  expect  from  the 
men  he  had  so  often  led  to  victory. 

The  cheers  of  the  Federal  troops  grew  louder  as 
Lee  raced  toward  the  enclosure  of  the  salient.  They 
were  evidently  approaching  the  second  position.  The 
situation  was  even  more  disastrous  than  it  had  seemed 
at  first.  Far  to  the  right  and  left  of  him  the  roar  of 
guns  told  him  that  Grant  was  endeavouring  by  assault 
and  cannonade  to  prevent  the  detachment  of  troops 
from  those  wings  to  reinforce  the  broken  Confeder 
ate  centre.  If  Grant  could  hold  the  Confederate 
troops  on  the  right  and  left  in  their  places  in  their 


3i2  THE    PATRIOTS 

entrenchments,  his  great  preponderance  of  force 
would  enable  him  to  overwhelm  the  reserves  that 
Lee  was  hastening  to  the  danger  point,  the  disaster 
would  be  converted  into  a  rout,  and  then  God  save 
the  Confederacy,  for  nothing  could  avail  1 

The  situation  was  patent  even  to  the  private  sol 
diers  in  the  army,  much  more  to  the  officers.  Rhodes 
and  Ramseur,  of  Early's  corps  to  the  right  of  the 
salient,  had  already  gotten  their  troops  in  line,  when  a 
staff  officer  galloped  up  with  Lee's  commands.  Best 
of  them  all,  Gordon,  a  young  man  who  had  entered 
the  war  as  the  captain  of  an  infantry  company  and 
now  commanded  a  division,  and  who  went  out  at 
Appomattox  in  the  front  of  the  last  battle  line  in  a 
position  second  only  to  that  of  Lee  and  Longstreet, 
was  quick  to  see  the  necessity;  Without  orders  he 
deployed  his  division  in  line  of  battle  and  was  about 
to  move  forward  when  Lee  galloped  on  the  field. 
The  face  of  the  great  captain  was  set  and  firm. 
There  was  no  lack  of  composure  in  his  bearing,  but 
the  light  in  his  eye,  the  uplift  in  his  face,  signified  a 
desperate  determination,  nay  rather,  a  great  resolve. 

Taking  off  his  hat  he  rode  his  splendid  grey  horse 
to  the  head  of  the  line,  looked  back  at  the  men,  and 
wheeled  toward  the  Union  lines.  His  purpose  was 
patent  to  all.  Realising  the  supreme  effort  required 
to  save  the  day,  he  was  about  to  lead  those  brave 
Georgians  in  person  against  the  victorious  enemy. 
It  needed,  in  the  general's  mind,  his  personal  presence 
to  inspire  this  small  division  with  ability  to  hurl 
back,  or  even  hold  in  check,  that  enormous  mass  of 
men.  It  was  the  supreme  moment  of  the  war,  and 
unless  he  could  master  it,  he  would  go  to  a  great  death 
at  the  head  of  his  men.  He  would  win  a  victory  or 
he  would  not  survive  a  defeat. 

Over  to  the  right  as  he  took  this  position  he  saw 


THE    SALIENT   IN    THE   LINE       313 

the  missing  cannon.  The  horses  were  on  a  dead 
run,  the  cannoneers  were  yelling  like  fiends.  As  they 
bounded  over  the  uneven  road  the  muddy  cannon 
leaped,  banged  and  smashed  through  the  air  as  if 
they  had  been  projectiles  themselves.  It  was  much 
lighter  now,  and  although  the  mists  were  still  heavy, 
the  field  of  battle  could  be  distinguished. 

Some  slight  works  in  the  rear  of  the  McCool  house 
held  by  one  of  Gordon's  slender  brigades  had  tem 
porarily  checked  the  enemy.  In  the  excitement  of 
the  charge  and  the  deadly  hand-to-hand  fight  which 
had  ensued  before  Steuart's  line  had  been .  over 
whelmed,  the  men  of  this  division  did  not  surrender 
until  their  arms  had  been  literally  torn  from  them  and 
they  had  been  borne  down  by  sheer  weight  of  num 
bers.  It  was  hoped  this  delay  would  enable  the  ar 
tillery  to  get  into  action.  They  saw  the  guns  whirl 
to  the  front  in  battery,  but  before  they  had  a  chance 
to  fire  the  Union  troops  were  upon  them  and  the  first 
detachment  of  artillery  was  captured  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye. 

All  these  movements,  however,  had  taken  time,  and 
Hancock's  corps  had  become  badly  disorganised  in 
the  advance  and  the  fierce  fighting,  and  had  naturally 
gotten  entirely  out  of  control.  They  came  surging 
through  the  salient  enclosure  more  in  the  nature  of 
a  mob,  or  a  series  of  mobs,  by  this  time  than  any 
thing  else,  expecting  to  take  the  broken  line  in  re 
verse  in  the  direction  of  the  Court  House  and  end 
things  out  of  hand. 

Lee  turned  to  his  men.  At  that  juncture  Gordon, 
who  had  been  at  the  other  end  of  his  own  line,  gal 
loped  over  to  where  Lee  was  restraining  his  impatient 
horse.  With  a  reckless  disregard  of  military  eti 
quette  he  threw  his  own  animal  squarely  across  the 
face  of  Traveller.  Reaching  out  his  hand  he  caught 


3i4  THE    PATRIOTS 

the  bridle  of  the  general's  horse  and  checked  him. 
Lee  flushed  and  started  to  speak,  when  Gordon, 
shouted  out  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard  half  a 
mile  away,  and  which  was  heard — as  he  designed  it 
to  be — by  every  man  in  his  advance: 

"  General  Lee,  you  shall  not  lead  my  command  in 
a  charge!  No  man  shall  do  that." 

He  fairly  hurled  the  words  at  his  astonished  com 
mander,  not  giving  him  time  to  answer. 

"  The  men  behind  you  are  Georgians,  Virginians, 
North  Carolinians,"  he  cried,  his  voice  rising  tre 
mendously  as  he  spoke.  "  They  have  never  failed 
you  in  any  field.  They  won't  fail  you  now.  Will 
you,  boys  ?  " 

The  men  didn't  cheer  then  in  answer  to  that  ques 
tion.  They  simply  roared. 

"No,  no,  no!"  came  from  the  line;  "we'll  not 
fail  him!" 

"  General  Lee,"  shouted  Gordon  imperiously, 
while  yet  the  response  echoed  through  the  dull  air  of 
the  morning,  "  you  must  go  to  the  rear!  " 

He  recognised  the  value  of  that  life.  Lee  must 
be  saved  at  all  hazards,  else  whatever  happened  they 
were  indeed  lost.  Under  no  circumstances  was  the 
great  captain  to  be  permitted  to  sacrifice  himself  like 
an  ordinary  soldier.  Lee  must  go  back! 

Instantly  the  words  were  caught  up  by  Gordon's 
men.  They  were  greeted  by  the  Rebel  yell  certainly, 
but  this  time  it  was  not  the  incoherent,  thrilling  shriek 
so  filled  with  menace  which  animated  the  men  who 
voiced  it,  and  gave  pause  to  those  who  heard  its  ter 
rifying  cadences.  It  was  this  shout, 

"  General  Lee  to  the  rear !  General  Lee  to  the 
rear!  "  repeated  again  and  again. 

The  men  dashed  forward  and  grasped  the  gen- 
.eral's  horse  and  strove,  in  spite  of  his  involuntary 


THE    SALIENT   IN    THE   LINE       315 

effort  to  prevent  them,  to  turn  his  face  to  the  rear. 
Indeed  they  crowded  around  Traveller  so  closely  that 
they  actually  started  to  turn  him  and  then  push  the 
horse  backward  by  main  force.  If  necessary  they 
would  have  taken  horse  and  man  and  carried  them 
both  bodily  to  the  rear.  They  were  quite  in  the 
mood  for  such  an  achievement.  It  was  such  an  evi 
dence  of  affection  and  devotion  as  few  captains  had 
ever  received  on  a  battlefield. 

Lee  used  to  say  whimsically  that  he  never  really 
discovered  where  was  the  proper  station  of  the  gen- 
eral-5n-chief  in  action,  for  wherever  he  went  during 
the  course  of  a  battle  some  officer  was  sure  to  remon 
strate  with  him,  and  the  words  that  he  heard  most 
frequently  when  fighting  was  going  on  were  these : 

"General  Lee,  this  is  no  place  for  you,  sir;  you 
ought  not  to  be  here !  " 

There  was  nothing  left  for  Lee  but  compliance. 
He  shook  his  head  and  slowly  forced  his  way  out  of 
the  ranks,  taking  position  on  a  little  hillock  where  the 
whole  division  could  see  him.  He  was  as  fearless, 
as  reckless  of  death,  as  the  commonest  soldier,  and 
they  knew  it.  His  hold  on  those  men  was  irresistible. 
They  could  do  anything  now,  and  they  would. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE   BLOODY  ANGLE  AT   HELL'S    HALF-ACRE 

WHILE  the  impression  of  the  scene  was  still  upon 
them,  Gordon  gave  the  word  "  Forward !  "  The 
division,  enthused  to  the  sublime,  struck  the  disor 
ganised  and  scattered  troops  of  Hancock  with  tre 
mendous  force  and  drove  them  back,  stubbornly  con 
testing  every  foot  of  the  way,  the  resistance  growing 
stronger  and  stronger  as  the  blue  men  were  crowded 
together  by  the  constricting  walls  of  the  angle.  But 
Gordon  was  not  to  be  denied.  Slowly  his  men  pressed 
on.  The  stress  and  strain  were  terrific.  There  was 
more  hand-to-hand  fighting  over  the  ground  that 
Edward  Johnson  had  occupied  that  morning.  Many 
a  man,  wounded  and  unable  to  get  away,  fell  and  was 
trampled  to  death  by  the  press  of  feet. 

As  Lee  had  withdrawn  from  Gordon's  front  at  the 
imperious  behest  of  that  gallant  young  commander, 
he  had  sent  Grafton,  who  had  witnessed  the  whole 
scene  with  a  feeling  almost  of  awe,  posthaste  to  bring 
up  some  more  artillery  to  take  the  place  of  the  cap 
tured  guns.  After  a  few  minutes'  fighting,  which 
Lee  watched,  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth  and  a  prayer 
on  his  lips,  for  if  the  Federal  troops  did  not  give  way 
before  that  charge,  if  Gordon's  men  failed,  all  would 
be  lost,  he  saw  with  relief  indescribable  Cabell's  ar 
tillery  coming  up  on  the  run.  They  wheeled  to  the 
right,  the  officers  saluting,  waving  their  swords, 
shouting  as  they  saw  Lee  on  old  Traveller,  and 
dashed  into  action. 

By  this  time  Rhodes  and  Ramseur  had  also  swung 

3* 


THE    BLOODY   ANGLE  317 

into  the  salient  in  a  series  of  hurtling  charges,  and 
added  their  onslaught  to  the  tremendous  thrust  of 
the  Georgians  under  Gordon.  By  prodigious  efforts 
they  finally  forced  the  Union  troops  out  of  the  salient 
and  over  the  works.  But  no  further.  To  one  side 
of  that  narrow  line  of  earth  and  logs  the  maddened 
men  in  blue  clung  with  the  grip  of  an  octopus.  Upon 
it  the  frantic  men  in  grey  threw  themselves  with  the 
demoniac  energy  of  enraged  tigers. 

It  was  daylight  now.  All  that  long  grey  day,  with 
the  rain  whirling  down  on  them,  the  soldiers  fought 
for  that  line.  The  Confederates  had  cleared  the 
salient  and  regained  all  that  they  had  lost  except  the 
extreme  angles.  They  could  not  dislodge  the  Union 
troops  from  the  outer  face  of  that  portion  of  the 
line,  nor  could  the  Federal  soldiers  in  turn  drive  them 
from  the  inner  face.  With  six  feet  of  earth  separa 
ting  them  they  struggled  through  the  long  hours. 

It  was  not  a  series  of  charges  and  countercharges, 
of  successive  advances  and  retreats,  as  was  usually 
the  course  of  engagements.  It  was  not  a  battle  in 
which  the  fortunes  of  war  wavered  from  one  side  to 
the  other,  but  it  was  a  straight,  continuous,  steady, 
hand-to-hand  fight  of  over  twenty  hours'  duration, 
and  of  such  a  character  as  beggars  description. 
Never  before,  never  since,  was  there  a  battle  like  it. 

Men  stood  behind  the  breastworks  firing  until  they 
were  shot  down.  Guns  were  run  forward,  by  hand, 
after  the  horses  had  been  killed,  from  either  side, 
and  fired  until  their  very  carriages  were  cut  to  pieces 
by  musket  fire.  The  sponges  were  dipped  in  blood 
which  dropped  from  the  iron  muzzles  as  from  a  rav 
ening  animal's  lips.  Men  drank  the  sickening  com 
pound  in  their  consuming  thirst  in  default  of  water. 
The  slopes  on  either  side  were  piled  with  men  past 
action  forever,  to  whom  no  one  gave  heed.  The 


3i8  THE    PATRIOTS 

trenches  were  filled  with  dead,  the  ditches  with 
blood.  The  horrible  mud  was  mixed  with  trampled 
human  lives.  Wounded  men  fought  with  the  fero 
city  of  tigers  or  the  courage  of  lions  at  bay,  until  they 
could  fight  no  more. 

Fresh  troops  were  brought  up  constantly,  although 
they  were  subjected  to  a  fearful  shattering  fire  from 
the  guns  placed  far  enough  back  from  the  works  on 
either  side  to  shoot  over  friend  and  into  the  foe.  Still 
that  breastwork  was  lined  with  men,  who  fought  on 
with  no  note  of  time,  knowing  that  the  last  hour 
would  strike  presently  for  them.  Opposing  colours 
were  planted  on  it  face  to  face  and  waved  there  until 
cloth  and  staffs  were  shot  to  pieces. 

In  the  frenzy  of  their  passion  men  would  leap  on 
the  breastworks  and  fire  down  into  the  trenches  on 
the  other  side.  Sometimes  their  comrades  would 
pass  up  gun  after  gun,  which  the  heroes  on  the  works 
would  fire  until  they  were  shot  down.  Bayonets 
crossed,  sabres  were  rammed  through  crevices  and 
openings  in  the  breastworks,  and  the  men  were  as 
mad.  The  redoubt  smoked  like  a  volcano,  writhed 
like  a  serpent,  bled  like  a  heart.  And  over  all  the 
rains  fell  and  fell.  In  the  whole  history  of  warfare 
there  never  was  such  a  prolonged,  desperate  battle 
period  of  fierce  hand-to-hand  fighting  since  the  world 
began. 

Neither  side  would  give  way.  Officers  and  men 
fought  side  by  side;  organisation  was  lost.  It  was 
not  needed.  Each  man  was  soldier  and  captain  at 
once;  and  the  sole  need  was  to  fight,  to  fight  with 
parched  lips  and  sobbing  breast,  until  merciful  death 
stayed  the  hand. 

The  rifle  and  musketry  fire  was  of  such  fierceness 
and  intensity  that  the  air  was  filled  with  sheets  of 
lead  and  steel.  A  deep,  continuous  humming  sound 


THE    BLOODY   ANGLE  319 

dominated  the  field — the  song  of  the  rifle  bullet,  the 
JEolizn  harp  of  death.  A  large  tree  back  of  the 
lines  was  cut  down  by  musket  fire  and  fell.  Gun 
after  gun  was  put  out  of  action  because  everything 
wooden  about  it  was  destroyed  by  the  small-arm  bul 
lets.  The  headlogs  on  the  breastworks  were  shiv 
ered  into  paint  brushes.  The  reeds  and  rushes  and 
weeds  and  underbrush  were  cut  down  as  cleanly  as 
though  they  had  been  mowed. 

The  heroism  on  both  sides  was  so  great  that  the 
battle,  in  spite  of  its  horrors,  was  an  epic  of  mag 
nificence.  Every  soldier  on  that  dead  line  that  lived 
from  hour  to  hour  because  it  was  constantly  remanned 
with  fresh  victims,  was  a  hero  or  a  demon.  With 
faces  ghastly  white  from  fatigue,  with  mouths  pow 
der-blackened  from  biting  cartridges,  with  bodies 
covered  with  mud  from  the  gunstocks,  until  they 
could  not  tell  blue  from  grey  in  the  rain,  the  men 
fought  on. 

The  Union  troops  were  not  withdrawn  while  there 
was  a  hope  of  driving  the  Confederates  away,  for  if 
they  were  forced  back  from  the  lines  again  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia  would  be  lost.  The  Confed 
erates  would  not  be  hurled  from  their  position,  for 
their  salvation  depended  upon  keeping  the  Union 
troops  at  bay  until  the  lines  in  the  rear  could  be  com 
pleted.  So  the  best  troops  of  both  armies  were  con 
centrated  on  either  side  of  those  lines  in  a  struggle 
which  needs  the  pen  of  Homer  or  the  brush  of 
Verestchagin  to  describe  it. 

Meanwhile,  far  back  of  the  salient,  toiled  franti 
cally  the  wounded,  the  sick,  the  teamsters,  the  camp- 
followers,  every  one  who  could  handle  a  spade,  or 
an  axe,  or  even  shovel  the  earth  with  a  tin  cup. 
Lee's  personal  presence  sometimes  animated  these 
humble  toilers.  He  rode  from  place  to  place,  from 


320  THE    PATRIOTS 

fighting  line  to  working  line,  encouraging  all,  filling 
his  men  with  unconquerable  determination,  with  an 
ardour  that  nothing  could  quench  and  by  which,  as 
welcome  night  came  on,  the  terrible  wrestle  ended  in 
a  victory  for  them. 

The  first  success  of  the  Federals  had  been  nullified 
by  the  sacrifice  of  the  Confederates.  The  battle 
gradually  died  away,  leaving  each  army  in  possession 
of  the  face  of  the  angle  it  had  fought  for.  About 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  humanity  could  stand  no 
more.  There  was  silence  on  the  field.  What  re 
mained  alive  of  the  Confederate  divisions  that  had 
held  the  line  retreated  from  the  Bloody  Angle  and 
occupied  the  new  breastworks  that  had  been  built 
across  the  base  of  the  salient,  leaving  to  the  Federals 
the  now  useless  works.  The  battle  was  over,  the 
Confederacy  was  saved — but  at  a  terrible  cost. 

Graf  ton  had  distinguished  himself  on  that  fatal 
field.  He  had  received  permission  from  Lee  to  go 
forward  to  the  angle  with  one  of  the  reinforcing  lines 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  had  fought  with  them 
until  the  withdrawal  that  night.  By  one  of  those 
coincidences  which  so  often  occurred  in  battle,  both 
lines  had  made  a  simultaneous  attempt  to  swarm  over 
the  crest  just  at  dusk.  Graftpn  crossed  swords  in 
the  smoke  and  excitement  with  a  Union  officer. 
Their  blades  rang  viciously  together,  and  then  a  flash 
of  recognition  leaped  into  the  faces  of  both  men. 

"  Kirkwood!  "  gasped  one. 

"  Grafton !  "  answered  the  other. 

Neither  could  hear  a  word  in  the  tumult,  but  their 
lips  framed  the  words.  They  lowered  their  weapons, 
but  the  next  moment  a  maddened  man  who  had  been 
fighting  by  Grafton's  side  thrust  his  bayonet  into 
Kirkwood's  breast.  A  shell  burst  on  the  breast 
work,  from  which  side  no  one  could  tell,  and  when 


THE    BLOODY   ANGLE  321 

the  smoke  cleared  away  Grafton  was  alone.  He 
emptied  his  pistol  into  the  Federal  ranks  immediately 
below  him.  A  hundred  muskets  were  fired  at  him 
and  bullets  sang  around  him  until  friendly  hands 
reached  up  and  dragged  him  back  to  the  Confederate 
side.  He  had  been  grazed  in  half  a  dozen  places, 
but  by  a  miracle  was  not  hurt.  Other  hands  had 
caught  Kirkwood,  a  colonel  now,  as  he  had  fallen, 
and  had  drawn  him  back  from  the  crest  of  the  hill. 
Grafton  did  not  know  what  became  of  him — whether 
he  lived  or  died. 

He  was  the  saddest  man  in  the  army  that  night 
as  he  thought  of  his  lost  wife.  Although  he  was 
utterly  exhausted  as  he  threw  himself  down  on  the 
wet  ground  near  Lee's  headquarters,  he  could  not 
sleep.  He  thought  and  thought  of  Ariadne.  And 
the  fact  that  his  best  friend  had  been  practically 
killed  under  his  very  eyes  did  not  lighten  the  burden 
of  his  sorrow. 

To  complete  this  tale  of  the  fighting  in  "  Hell's 
Half-Acre,"  as  the  soldiers  called  it,  the  next  morn 
ing  the  Union  troops  occupied  the  lines  which  had 
been  so  bitterly  contested  for.  On  both  sides  they 
found  them  piled  with  dead  in  the  ditches  to  the 
height  of  four  or  five  feet,  a  solid  mass  of  bodies. 
Here  and  there  convulsive  movements,  a  muffled 
moan,  indicated  that  there  was  some  life  in  the  hor 
rible  heaps. 

The  possession  of  the  field  and  the  honours  of  the 
conflict  remained  with  the  Federals,  but  they  were 
barren  honours,  for  behind  the  new  earthworks  lay 
the  veterans  of  the  South  as  grimly  at  bay  as  they 
had  been  before  the  great  assault  of  Hancock. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AFTER  SPOTTSYLVANIA 

ARIADNE  was  fearfully  ill  and  weak.  Not  only 
from  the,  to  her — to  any  woman — agonising  wounds, 
but  from  the  nervous  exhaustion  induced  by  the  tre 
mendous  exertions  which  she  had  undergone.  Gen 
eral  Stuart  and  some  of  his  staff  officers  had  carried 
her  to  a  little  hut  in  a  neighbouring  clearing — the 
best  they  could  do  for  her — and  had  committed  her 
to  the  care  of  an  elderly  negress,  who,  although 
frightened  to  death  by  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers, 
refused  to  be  dislodged  from  the  miserable  hut  she 
called  her  home. 

She  nursed  and  cared  for  the  girl  as  best  she  could. 
Ariadne  was  too  ill  to  be  moved  the  next  day. 
There  was  no  place  for  her  to  go ;  the  Federal  troops 
were  all  around  her,  and  back  of  Stuart's  men  they 
still  held  the  Court  House.  The  reaction  had  set 
in,  and  she  hardly  cared  what  became  of  her  for  the 
time  being.  She  heard  the  roar  of  battle  close  at 
hand,  but  it  did  not  come  nearer  as  the  day  drew  on. 
If  it  did,  she  could  not  help  it.  She  had  so  drawn 
upon  her  nervous  force  the  day  before  that  she  was  a 
complete  physical  wreck,  almost  a  mental  one.  Her 
head  ached  fearfully  from  the  wound  in  her  tem 
ple,  the  wounds  in  her  tender  flesh,  so  hastily  and 
imperfectly  attended  to,  gave  her  excruciating 
pain. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Philip's  sake  she  would  have 
wished  herself  dead  then  and  there.  No  one  came 
near  them  from  either  army,  and  late  in  the  morn- 

322 


AFTER    SPOTTSYLVANIA  323 

ing  the  old  negress  came  in  from  a  reconnoisance  she 
had  undertaken  and  declared  that  unless  they  wanted 
to  be  killed  they  must  get  out  of  the  house  and  seek 
shelter  somewhere  else. 

"  Fs  be'n  out  in '  de  gyarden,"  she  remarked, 
"  an'  I  see  de  sogers  comin'  in  dar  " — she  pointed 
out  the  north  of  the  clearing.  "  Dey's  a-comin' 
right  dis  way  an'  dey  got  a  gret  big  gun  wid  'em." 

Ariadne  hardly  had  the  strength  and  resolution 
to  do  so,  but,  urged  by  the  old  woman,  she  got  up 
from  the  bed  and  started  toward  the  door,  through 
which  she  could  see  what  was  occurring.  With  her 
keen  intelligence  she  knew  at  once  what  was  about  to 
happen.  That  section  of  artillery  unlimbering  on 
the  edge  of  the  woods  was  trying  to  take  the  Con 
federate  line  in  reverse.  She  saw,  too,  that  the  line 
of  fire  ran  some  distance  from  the  hut  and  that  unless 
the  gun  were  badly  aimed  they  were  in  no  immediate 
danger. 

Her  first  instinct  was  to  warn  the  Confederates 
of  the  blow  which  was  about  to  fall,  but  she  realised 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  warn  them  in  time. 
She  had  no  horse,  she  could  not  walk.  She  watched 
the  approaching  gun  in  helpless  anguish.  The  negro 
woman  was  looking  the  other  way. 

"  Heh  cum  our  folks,"  she  cried,  suddenly 
pointing. 

Ariadne  wheeled  swiftly  and  stared  through  the 
adjoining  window  looking  south.  A  single  man  was 
stepping  out  of  the  trees.  He  wore  a  grey  uniform. 
Ariadne  had  been  almost  blind  with  pain,  but  there 
was  an  illumination  in  that  presence.  It  was  her 
husband;  she  recognised  him  at  once.  He  had 
escaped,  then;  he  was  alive.  He  had  come  to  warn 
Stuart,  to  seek  her.  But  what  was  he  doing  there? 
Alone?  She  could  not  imagine  until  she  saw  him 


324  THE    PATRIOTS 

lift  his  rifle  and  fire.  Then  she  realised  that  He  was 
fighting  that  gun  alone. 

For  the  moment  Ariadne  forgot  her  wounds,  her 
anguish,  everything,  and  thrilled  at  the  sight  of  that 
cool  and  splendid  figure.  She  guessed  that  he  had 
come  to  take  her  from  the  house  and  that  he  had  seen 
the  artillery  and  was  making  a  desperate  attempt  to 
check  it  temporarily.  She  saw  the  Federals  wheel 
the  piece  and  fire  on  her  husband  at  last.  She  cov 
ered  her  ears  with  her  hands  at  the  sound  of  the 
report  and  tried  not  to  look  toward  the  window  until 
the  old  negress,  who  had  been  watching  the  scene 
with  eager  eyes,  exclaimed : 

"  Dey  didn't  git  him  ?  He's  doin*  hit  agin.  Look ! 
Heah  cum  de  res'  un  *em." 

She  saw  Breathed's  guns  come  up  on  the  gallop, 
marked  them  swing  into  action,  then  she  lost  sight 
of  her  husband  in  the  smoke. 

"  Dey's  mo'  Yanks  yander,"  cried  the  old  woman, 
pointing  through  the  door;  "  we  got  to  git  outer  heah 
somewar." 

There  was  a  little  cellar  under  the  house,  a  hole 
rather,  scarcely  large  enough  for  the  two  women. 
Thither  the  older  woman  half  led,  half  carried 
Ariadne  by  main  force.  There  they  remained  while 
the  tide  of  battle  rolled  around  them.  The  hut  be 
tween  the  two  armies  was  hit  again  and  again  during 
the  hot  little  fight,  but  no  piece  of  shell  or  canister 
injured  either  woman.  Ariadne  lay  as  one  dead  in 
the  arms  of  the  kind  old  black  woman.  How  long  she 
remained  there  she  did  not  know;  the  minutes  seemed 
hours,  the  hours  days,  and  she  had  lost  count  of  all. 

Finally  the  Federal  troops  drove  back  the  Con 
federates.  The  battle  swept  by  them;  they  could 
hear  it  far  to  the  right  and  rear.  At  last  they  ven- 
turned  out.  By  this  time  Ariadne  was  nearly  dead. 


AFTER    SPOTTSYLVANIA  325 

She  was  in  the  grip  of  a  fever  and  half  delirious 
when  a  large  body  of  Union  cavalrymen  rode  past 
the  house.  The  general  in  command  stopped  his 
horse  and  asked  for  a  drink  of  water.  The  old 
negress,  who  answered  his  hail,  stared  hard  at  him. 
He  looked  a  kindly  man,  and,  knowing  that  she 
must  trust  some  one,  she  determined  to  ask  his  as 
sistance. 

"  Mister,"  she  said,  handing  him  a  gourdful  of 
water,  "  der's  a  young  lady  in  heh.  She's  all  shot 
up  an'  I  spec  she  gwine  to  die  ef  sumbody  doan  tek 
sum  notice  un  her." 

"Take  my  horse,  orderly,"  said  the  general,  in 
stantly  dismounting  and  following  the  old  woman 
into  the  hut.  The  next  moment  he  recognised 
Ariadne,  while  she  in  turn  was  greatly  surprised  and 
not  a  little  relieved  to  see  that  he  was  General 
Manning. 

"  Why,  it's  Miss  Lewis !  "  he  cried  in  amazement. 
"  How  did  you  get  here?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"  Dey  fotch  her  las'  night,  all  shot  up." 

"  I  will  send  a  doctor  at  once,"  said  General 
Manning,  "  and  we'll  see  what  can  be  done.  Will 
you  stay  with  her?  "  he  said,  proffering  a  gold  piece 
to  the  negress. 

"  I  doan'  want  none  er  dat,  suh,"  said  the  old 
woman  proudly.  "  I'se  Confed'it,  I  is.  I'se  gwine 
ter  tek  keer  er  dis  young  lady  as  long  as  I  kin'  stan' 
up." 

General  Manning  summoned  his  brigade  surgeon 
to  look  after  Ariadne,  posted  a  guard  at  the  hut  and 
gave  instructions  that  her  condition  was  to  be  re 
ported  to  him  wherever  he  might  be  camped  for  the 
night.  Rest,  care,  and  good  nursing  were  all  that 
Ariadne  required,  the  surgeon  declared;  and  the  ma- 


326  THE    PATRIOTS 

terial  portion  of  this  Manning  supplied  from  the 
boundless  resources  of  the  Union  army,  and  the  old 
negress  did  the  rest.  The  day  after  that  Manning 
himself,  whose  brigade  was  not  engaged  at  the  time, 
came  back  to  see  her.  He  found  a  very  pale  and 
wretched  woman,  but  one  recovered  in  part  from  her 
terrible  shock. 

"  Miss  Lewis,"  he  began  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  General  Manning,"  said  Ariadne,  "  I  deceived 
you." 

The  general  looked  thoughtful. 

"  My  name  isn't  Lewis,"  she  went  on.  "  It  used 
to  be,  before  I  was  married." 

"  Married !    You !    What  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  Grafton." 

"  You're  not  Philip  Graf  ton's  wife?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Then  you're  not  a  Northern  sympathiser  at 
all?" 

"  No." 

"  And  that  dash  into  our  lines  was     .     .     ." 

"  A  ruse." 

"  I  did  that  young  Confederate  captain  an  injus 
tice,"  said  Manning,  reflecting  upon  what  he  had 
said  about  the  other's  pursuit  of  the  woman. 

"  You  did,"  said  Ariadne,  "  and  I  longed  to  tell 
you  the  truth  to  clear  his  memory,  but  I  could  not." 

"  There  must  have  been  serious  cause  for  you  to 
risk  life  and  your  escort  to  get  into  my  lines." 

"There  was.     I  had  to  get  through." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  had  a  message  for  General  Stuart." 

Ariadne  knew  that  no  harm  would  be  done  by 
disclosing  her  story,  and  she  really  was  anxious  to 
tell  the  whole  truth  to  this  officer,  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  her.  It  was  a  relief  to  tell  the  truth,  after  the 


AFTER    SPOTTSYLVANIA          327 

past  necessity  for  so  many  falsehoods,  and  she  felt  it 
a  sort  of  belated  atonement  as  well. 

"  My  husband  is  on  General  Lee's  staff.  He  had 
orders  to  General  Stuart  to  hold  you  back.  He  was 
captured,  but  I  escaped  and  delivered  the  message." 

"  Upon  what  little  things  battles  depend,"  mused 
Manning.  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  this  woman 
Stuart  would  have  retreated  or  gone  away  on  some 
wild  raid  or  other.  We  would  have  seized  Spottsyf- 
vania  Court  House.  Lee's  army  would  have  been 
flanked,  he  would  have  been  cut  off  from  Richmond, 
and  forced  to  retreat  or  attack  our  overwhelming 
force  with  his  depleted  battalions." 

This  had  all  been  frustrated. by  Ariadne's  dash 
and  daring,  her  shrewdness  and  devotion.  But  Man 
ning  bore  no  malice.  He  could  respect  such  qualities 
even  in  a  foe.  And  no  one  could  cherish  animosity 
toward  this  poor,  wounded,  fever-racked,  stricken 
woman,  yet  still  for  all  that  she  had  sustained,  look 
ing  at  him  out  of  her  beautiful  eyes  with  some  of 
the  old  pride  of  Ariadne,  the  dauntless. 

"  You  outwitted  me  fairly,"  said  the  general, 
smiling,  "  and  while  I  am  of  course  chagrined,  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  be  angry  with  Philip  Grafton's 
wife.  By  the  way,  I  have  a  message  for  him  in  my 
pocket."  He  hesitated. 

"  A  message?    From  whom?  " 

"  My  wife,"  said  Manning  gravely. 

He  could  understand  what  value  the  message 
would  be  both  to  Grafton  and  his  wife  under  certain 
circumstances.  But  he  must  know  all  before  he  de 
livered  it. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  your  husband  .  .  You 
see  I  know  something  of  your  story." 

It  was  very  hard  for  Manning  to  go  on,  and 
Ariadne  helped  him. 


328  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  I  fled  from  him,  as  you  know,"  she  said,  "  but 
he  found  me  day  before  yesterday." 

"  He  is     .     .     is  it  ^  .     .     ." 

"  He  loves  me,"  said  the  woman  simply,  un 
derstanding  Manning's  query.  "If  I  only  knew 
that  he  were  safe  I'd  be  the  happiest  woman  on 
earth." 

"  Good," exclaimed  Manning,  his  course  clear  now. 
"  My  wife  begs  your  forgiveness.  She  gave  me  a 
little  packet  which  I  was  to  give  to  your  husband  or 
to  you,  if  by  any  chance  I  fell  in  with  either  of  you. 
I  carry  it  always  with  me.  Here  it  is." 

He  took  a  small  parcel  from  his  breast  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Ariadne. 

"  Is  it     .     ."  began  Ariadne,  "  are  you     .     .     ." 

"  I  am  as  happy  as  you  are,  Mrs.  Grafton,"  said 
the  young  officer  impulsively,  laughing  like  a  boy, 
understanding  her  as  she  had  understood  him.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  and  met  her  small  one,  giving 
it  a  vigorous  shake. 

The  package  was  addressed  in  Kathleen's  handwrit 
ing  to  "  Mrs.  Philip  Grafton,  in  care  of  her  hus 
band,  kindness  of  General  Manning."  With  nervous 
fingers  Ariadne  tore  it  open.  There  was  nothing  in 
it  but  a  locket.  Kathleen's  locket,  that  her  husband 
had  worn.  The  recollection  of  the  scene  in  which  it 
had  played  so  prominent  a  part  came  over  her  with 
a  rush.  She  dropped  it  in  her  lap.  What  had  Kath 
leen  intended,  she  thought,  by  sending  it  to  her? 
How  had  it  come  into  her  possession,  in  the  first 
place?  What  had  she  meant  by  returning  it  to 
Ariadne?  Had  Philip  given  it  to  Kathleen?  Did 
it  mean  that  Kathleen  had  sent  it  back  to  Ariadne 
as  a  token  that  she  had  cast  off  Philip  ?  How  could 
any  one  ever  stop  loving  him?  she  thought,  indig 
nantly,  with  a  flash  of  charming  inconsistency. 


AFTER    SPOTTSYLVANIA          329 

"  You'd  better  open  it,"  said  Manning,  smiling  at 
her  and  comprehending  something  of  her  thoughts. 

Her  trembling  fingers  fumbled  at  the  catch  and 
finally  he  had  to  come  to  her  assistance.  He  placed 
the  open  locket  in  her  hand.  She  had  fearfully  ex 
pected  to  see  Kathleen's  picture,  but  lol  a  little 
chubby  face  stared  at  her. 

"  What  is  this?  "  she  began  in  bewilderment. 

"  Can't  you  see?  It's  a  baby,"  answered  Man 
ning,  smiling  like  a  great  boy,  as  he  always  did  at 
that  picture,  a  duplicate  of  which,  with  Kathleen's 
face  opposite,  he  carried  in  his  pocket. 

"But  whose  baby?" 

1  Mine  and  Kathleen's.^ 

"  But  why  did  she  send  it  to  me?" 

"  You  are  the  baby's  god-mother  .  .  or  rather, 
you're  going  to  be,  and  we've  named  her  after  you." 

"Then  it  is  a  girl?" 

Manning  nodded. 

"Ariadne  Manning.  See?"  There  was  a  little 
scrap  of  paper  in  the  locket.  Manning  took  it  out 
and  held  it  forth. 

"  For  Ariadne "  was  written  upon  it,  "  from 
Kathleen.  Love  me  and  forgive  me." 

Ariadne  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  stared  at 
the  general. 

"  You  see,"  he  began,  "  we  are  indebted  to  you 
for  all  our  happiness.  It  was  your  trust  and  your 
example  that  opened  Kathleen's  eyes.  She  did  love 
your  husband  once — and  who  could  blame  her? 
He's  the  most  splendid  fellow  on  earth,  but  after  you 
came  and  after  you  left  her,  well,  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  saw  some  of  the  merits  of  my  unworthy  self. 
Mrs.  Grafton,  I  cannot  thank  you  enough.  She  said 
that  whenever  she  looked  at  me  she  thought  of  you, 
so  straight,  so  dauntless,  so  true,  so  unhappy.  Some- 


330  THE    PATRIOTS 

how,  it  seems  strange,  she  turned  to  me.  Then 
when  .  .  the  baby  came  .  .  and  it  was  a 
girl  we  both  thought  of  you.  Are  you  glad?  " 

"  I  am  very  glad,  very  happy,"  quivered  Ariadne, 
comprehending  at  last;  "or  I  would  be  if  I  could 
only  know  where  Philip  is,  if  he  is  alive.  I  did  noth 
ing.  Ijt  was  Kathleen's  innate  nobleness  of  soul,  that 
was  all,  that  .  .  that  saved  all  .  .  of  us." 

"  Now,"  said  Manning,  manlike  anxious  not  to 
plunge  too  deeply  into  a  scene,  "  what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Can  I  get  back  into  our  lines?  " 

"  It  is  absolutely  impossible,"  returned  the  gen 
eral.  "  In  no  way  could  it  be  brought  about.  I 
wish  you  would  go  North.  Kathleen  is  in  Fred- 
ericksburg,  but  she  is  going  back  to  Pennsylvania. 
She  will  be  glad  to  take  you  with  her.  You  can't 
stay  here." 

Poor  Ariadne  had  been  so  buffeted  by  fortune  that 
she  was  incapable  of  much  resistance  now.  She  de 
murred,  but  Manning  was  persistent.  He  said, 
which  was  perfectly  true,  that  were  conditions  differ 
ent  she  would  have  done  the  same ;  and  he  promised, 
if  it  were  possible  to  get  tidings  to  Philip,  to  let  him 
know.  Ariadne  had  to  comply  for  the  present,  for 
she  was  too  weak  and  too  helpless  to  be  left  alone. 
Back  to  Fredericksburg  she  went. 

The  day  after  Spottsylvania  General  Manning, 
who  had  told  the  story  to  General  Grant  and  re 
ceived  his  permission,  sent  an  officer  to  the  Confed 
erate  lines  under  a  flag  of  truce.  He  himself 
followed  Sheridan  to  meet  Stuart,  so  he  had  to  trust 
his  message  to  one  of  General  Meade's  staff  officers. 
The  Confederate  officer  who  met  the  flag  received  a 
note  from  General  Grant  to  General  Lee.  When  Lee 
opened  it  he  found  a  brief  letter  from  his  great  an- 


AFTER    SPOTTSYLVANIA  331 

tagonist,  asking,  if  no  military  exigency  prevented, 
that  he  would  deliver  the  enclosed  note  to  Captain 
Philip  Grafton,  if  such  an  officer  were  still  on  his 
staff.  If  so,  and  an  answer  was  to  be  made,  the 
officer  who  brought  the  note  under  the  flag  would  be 
glad  to  take  it  back.  It  was  a  most  unusual  request. 
Lee,  however,  surmised  what  the  tenor  of  the  note 
would  be.  He  called  Grafton  and  placed  it  in  his 
hands.  Grafton  opened  it,  and,  recognizing  Man 
ning's  handwriting,  read: 

"  DEAR  OLD  FELLOW: 

"  Your  wife  is  wounded,  but  not  seriously, 
and  is  in  our  lines.  I  have  prevailed  upon  her  to  go 
back  to  Pennsylvania  with  Kathleen.  You  will  be 
glad  to  know  that  Kathleen  is  the  most  devoted  of 
wives  and  has  an  admiration  for  your  wife  second 
only  to  that  she  feels  for  our  little  daughter,  her 
namesake.  She  will  take  good  care  of  her  until, 
well  .  .  until  we  can  meet  under  happier  circum 
stances.  Your  wife  refuses  to  determine  anything 
until  she  hears  from  you.  If  she  can  get  word  that 
you  are  safe  and  well  her  own  recovery  will  be  cer 
tain.  You  will  be  sorry  to  learn  that  Burt  Kirkwood 
was  seriously  stabbed  at  the  Bloody  Angle.  Kath 
leen  and  your  wife  are  taking  him  back.  I  would 
have  brought  this  letter  in  person,  but  we  of  the 
cavalry  must  always  be  moving.  May  God  speed 
the  day  when  we  can  meet  face  to  face  in  peace. 
Your  old  friend  and  classmate,  who  never  forgets 
you,  GEORGE  MANNING." 

Grafton  laid  the  letter  before  Lee. 
"  This  is  not  necessary,  Captain,"  said  the  gen 
eral,  with  his  usual  consideration. 

"But  I  ask  you  to  read  it,  sir,"  said  Grafton; 


332  THE    PATRIOTS 

"  you  know  the  story,  and  I  wish  you  to  know  this 
chapter  as  well." 

"  General  Lee  handed  the  letter  back  after  he  had 
read  it  and  turned  to  his  aide. 

"A  manly  officer,"  he  said;  "I  am  glad  Mrs. 
Grafton  has  fallen  in  such  hands." 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  her,  sir?  " 

"  Tell  her  to  stay  there.  Write  your  reply,  but 
be  brief  about  it,"  was  the  kind  answer. 

"  Thank  God,  Manning,"  wrote  Grafton,  "  that 
my  wife  is  safe.  Tell  her  that  I  am  still  unharmed. 
That  my  honour  was  saved  through  her  magnificent 
heroism.  She  will  understand.  Tell  her  to  stay  with 
you  and  your  wife,  and  may  God  bless  you  both 
forever.  She  must  wait  until  the  war  is  over,  or  I  can 
arrange  to  have  her  brought  back  to  the  South.  I 
congratulate  you  on  the  little  girl  and  on  the  love  of 
one  of  the  finest  women  in  the  world.  You  know  how 
happy  I  am,  or  if  you  don't,  ask  Ariadne.  I  have 
something  to  live  for  now.  Good-bye. 

"  PHILIP  GRAFTON." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  ROBINGS  OF  GLORY,  THE  GLOOM  OF  DEFEAT 

"WELL,  Colonel  Grafton?"  exclaimed  the  general, 
as  Grafton  rode  up  to  him  one  morning  in  April 
almost  a  year  after  the  battle  of  Spottsylvania  Court 
House. 

The  young  staff  officer,  who  had  been  promoted 
to  his  present  rank  in  the  closing  years  of  the  great 
struggle,  checked  his  horse  abruptly  and  saluted. 
At  a  rapid  gallop  he  had  come  back  from  the  front, 
where  fierce  fighting  was  still  going  on.  The  emer- 
•gency  admitted  of  no  delay  or  he  would  have  spun 
the  moments  into  hours  before  approaching  his  great 
commander-in-chief  with  such  a  message  as  he  had 
to  deliver. 

The  year  that  had  elapsed  had  been  one  of  ruin 
and  disaster.  There  had  been  victories,  to  be  sure. 
Never  had  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  fought 
more  superbly,  never  had  the  skill  of  its  commander 
been  more  wonderfully  exhibited  than  in  the  long 
death  grapple  from  the  North  Anna  to  Petersburg, 
and  in  the  race  from  Petersburg  to  Appomattox. 
Starved  and  naked,  worn  away  by  the  attrition  of 
Grant's  ceaseless  grinding  and  hammering,  a  mere 
handful  stood  at  bay  that  sunny  April  morning, 
striking  in  hopeless  despair,  but  with  all  the  dash 
and  daring  of  old,  against  a  circle  of  enemies  that 
ringed  around  them  as  a  pack  of  wolves  a  dying  lion. 

From  the  east,  from  the  west,  from  the  north, 
from  the  south,  came  the  roar  of  battle,  painfully 
nearing  the  centre  where  Lee  stood  with  his  staff. 

333 


334  THE    PATRIOTS 

Behind  them,  miles  away,  lay  a  prostrate,  ruined 
town.  A  once  proud  little  capital  in  the  ashes  of 
humiliation  and  destruction.  Ahead  of  them  ran 
the  mountains  they  longed  to  reach,  to  the  south  of 
them  their  brothers  in  arms  were  reeling  back  from 
the  tremendous  shocks  of  Sherman.  But  between 
Lee  and  the  South,  between  Lee  and  the  West,  lay 
the  war  dogs  of  the  Union ;  the  quarry  that  had  been 
hounded  from  Gettysburg  to  Five  Forks  was  almost 
brought  down.  Pressed  from  the  rear,  assailed  on 
the  right  and  left,  with  the  way  barred  in  front,  the 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  trying  desperately 
to  break  through  anywhere.  The  wave  of  advance 
rolled  on,  but  it  was  now  a  shallow,  seething  spray 
about  beaten  to  pieces  against  the  inexorable  rocks 
of  an  indomitable  determination  whose  name  was 
Grant. 

In  all  that  fighting  Graf  ton  had  borne  a  splendid 
part.  He  had  participated  in  the  battle  at  the  Crater 
at  Petersburg.  He  had  charged  with  Gordon  at 
Fort  Steadman.  Carrying  orders  to  his  old  division 
commander  he  had  fought  with  Pickett  at  Five 
Forks.  He  had  narrowly  escaped  capture  with  Ewell 
at  Sailor's  Creek.  This  morning  Lee  had  sent  him 
forward  to  the  front  of  the  line,  where  Gordon 
commanded,  to  find  how  the  battle  went  and  what 
were  the  chances  of  success. 

Now  he  was  coming  back  to  tell  his  chieftain  that 
inevitable  defeat,  nay,  annihilation,  stared  him  in  the 
face  and  could  no  longer  be  staved  off  even  by  his 
genius  and  his  army's  courage. 

Twice  during  that  long  time  Grafton  had  heard 
from  Ariadne.  She  was  well,  she  was  with  Kathleen 
Manning,  who  loved  her.  She  longed  to  be  with 
her  husband.  She  might  have  managed  to  get  a 
pass  through  the  President  of  the  United  States, 


THE    ROBINGS   OF   GLORY         335 

whose  kindness  to  her  had  never  been  forgotten;  but 
Grafton,  with  the  deadly  picture  of  starvation  and 
misery  in  Richmond  constantly  before  him,  had  sunk 
his  own  desires  in  her  welfare  and  had  peremptorily 
forbidden  her  to  seek  to  enter  that  doomed  town. 

Unless  a  miracle  from  heaven  came  to  pass  the 
Confederacy  was  hopelessly  ruined  when  Lee  es 
sayed  to  defend  Petersburg  at  the  command  of  an 
executive  which  short-sightedly  valued  a  place  above 
an  army.  Grafton,  for  one,  realised  that  the  only 
hope  was  in  foreign  intervention,  which  it  was  now 
patent  would  never  take  place. 

Conditions  were  terrible  in  Richmond  in  the  sum 
mer  and  winter  of  1864.  Ariadne  had  suffered 
enough,  and  although  he  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  seen  her,  to  have  taken  her  in  his  arms — now 
that  he  loved  her — he  charged  her  with  all  the  solem 
nity  that  in  him  lay  to  stay  where  she  was  and  wait. 
Because  she  loved  him  she  obeyed  him. 

Both  the  times  he  heard  from  her  through  spies 
and  secret  service  messages,  her  letters  had  been 
pleas  that  she  might  come  to  him,  and  although  his 
heart  seconded  the  wish,  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
appeals.  Thus,  while  her  husband  starved  and 
fought,  while  her  sisters  sunk  and  died,  Ariadne 
stayed  in  the  little  Pennsylvania  town  helping  Kath 
leen,  who  was  now  her  staunchest  friend,  nurse  back 
to  health  and  strength  again  Colonel  Kirkwood,  who 
was  enabled  to  rejoin  his  regiment  in  the  fall. 

Ariadne  was  comfortable  enough  in  body ;  she  was 
not  hungry  nor  ragged,  as  were  her  Southern  sisters; 
but,  oh,  the  anguish  that  she  suffered  at  the  thought 
that  she  wanted  for  nothing  while  they  lacked  all! 
That  she  was  safe  and  happy  and  at  ease  while  her 
husband  was  in  deadly  peril  from  the  bullet  or  from 
disease,  was  a  trial  harder  to  bear  and  worse  than 


336  THE    PATRIOTS 

the  privation  of  the  siege.  Thinking  to  spare  her, 
he  had  laid  the  heaviest  cross  upon  her.  That  she 
bore  it  was  an  evidence  of  her  love  for  him. 

Kathleen  was  consideration  itself,  love  itself;  but 
nothing,  nothing,  could  make  Ariadne  feel  at  home. 
"  Home  is  where  the  heart  is,"  runs  an  old  song,  and 
her  heart  was  with  Grafton  alone.  Each  bulletin  of 
victory,  each  evidence  of  the  slow  death  of  the  Con 
federacy,  of  the  approaching  end  of  the  great  strug 
gle,  the  utter  defeat  of  those  who  thought  as  she, 
filled  her  heart  with  sorrow. 

Erect,  undaunted  still,  she  faced  the  future,  but 
with  little  hope,  save  for  Philip.  Sometimes  she 
awakened  with  horror  to  the  fact  that  she  was  wish 
ful  for  the  end  of  it  all  in  order  that  she  might  see 
her  husband  once  more.  She  hungered  and  thirsted 
for  him  with  her  whole  soul. 

Women  watched  the  bulletins  of  battle  those  days 
as  they  never  scanned  newspaper  reports  before  or 
since,  but  none  in  the  North  watched  them  with  such 
agonising  intensity  as  Ariadne.  So  the  slow  months 
dragged  away.  In  each  one  of  them  those  two 
lovers  lived  a  thousand  years. 

Now  Philip  loved  his  wife  with  all  his  heart  and 
soul,  and  his  heart  was  great  and  his  soul  was  true; 
but  he  was  a  man  and  a  soldier,  and  when  he  looked 
into  the  face  of  his  captain,  sitting  there  on  his  horse 
alone,  on  the  little  hill  surveying  woodland  and 
meadow,  from  which  the  roar  of  battle  rose,  through 
which  the  smoke  of  battle  wavered  and  drifted  in 
the  fitful  breeze  of  that  beautiful  morning,  he 
thought  only  of  him.  Indeed  that  army,  the  cause 
for  which  they  had  fought,  had  become  Lee.  He 
typified  everything  they  had  struggled  for,  every 
hope  they  had  cherished,  every  dream  they  had 
dreamed,  every  vision  they  had  seen.  He  was, 


THE    ROBINGS   OF   GLORY         337 

as  hj2  sat  there  that  morning,  the  South  in  all 
its  glory,  in  all  its  pride,  in  all  its  honour.  The 
South,  broken,  beaten  down,  but  undaunted;  the 
South,  winning  eternal  fame,  evoking  all  men's  re 
spect  and  many  men's  love,  in  this  hour  of  defeat. 

A  magnificent  picture  the  general  made.  He  was 
clad  in  a  new  and  perfectly  fitting  uniform  that  had 
seen  no  service.  The  worn  grey  coat  in  which  he 
had  shared  the  privations  of  his  men  had  been  dis 
carded.  Compelled  to  abandon  all  personal  bag 
gage,  each  officer  had  put  on  his  best  uniform  for  a 
last  effort  to  break  through  the  grip  of  Grant.  This 
was  a  uniform  that  had  been  kept  for  the  moment 
of  triumph;  it  was  destined  to  grace  the  day  of 
defeat. 

Grafton  was  as  ragged  and  tattered  as  any  officer 
in  the  army.  He  had  been  absent  on  service  when 
the  baggage  had  been  abandoned,  and  although  Tay 
lor  and  Venable  had  saved  him  his  best  suit,  it  had 
been  lost  in  the  wild  scramble  of  the  retreat.  He 
was  a  scarecrow  of  an  officer  save  for  the  purpose, 
the  intelligence,  that  shone  in  his  face.  The  men  in 
that  army  were  not  estimated  by  clothing,  and  how  a 
soldier  dressed  accounted  for  nothing  if  he  fought, 
if  he  served — and  Grafton  did  both. 

Lee  wore  an  exquisitely  mounted  sword,  attached 
to  a  belt  of  Russia  leather  beautifully  embroidered 
in  gold.  His  abundant  grey  hair,  soft  and  fine  as 
silk,  curled  slightly  on  his  neck.  His  full  beard  and 
moustache,  trimmed  rather  short,  covered  his  mouth. 
His  ruddy  face  was  bronzed  and  weather-beaten  by 
the  hard,  rough  campaigning.  There  was  a  mourn 
ful  look  in  his  deep  brown  eyes  which  alone  indicated 
his  despair.  Yet,  such  was  the  strength  with  which 
this  man  ruled  himself,  that  he  gave  little  outward 
evidence  of  the  anguish  in  his  soul.  Although  his 


33 8  THE    PATRIOTS 

heart  was  breaking  he  was  a  picture  of  iron  com 
posure. 

As  Grafton  rode  up  he  thought  of  how  Lee  had 
looked  on  that  grey  morning  at  Spottsylvania,  when 
he  had  striven  to  lead  the  charge  on  the  Union  line ; 
how  his  colour  had  mounted  to  his  cheek,  how  his 
eye  had  flashed  as  with  high  look  and  heroic  bearing, 
hat  in  hand,  he  had  leaped  his  horse  to  the  head  of 
the  column.  And,  Grafton  thought,  happier  might 
it  have  been  for  this  man  if  he  had  led  the  charge 
and  died  then  and  there  on  that  bloody  field.  Yet 
he  was  to  add  the  last  leaf  to  the  laurels  of  his  fame 
by  his  courageous  course  on  this  day  and  the  days 
that  intervened  between  the  end  of  the  war  and  the 
end  of  his  own  fighting  of  the  battle  of  life.  Many 
a  man  is  great  in  victory,  greater  in  death;  few  are 
greatest  in  defeat.  Of  that  few  was  Lee. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  general,  as  Grafton  halted 
to  deliver  his  message,  "what  from  Gordon?" 

He  had  raced  toward  his  captain  as  became  a 
soldier,  but  now  that  he  had  to  tell  the  message  his 
lips  refused  to  frame  the  words.  Indeed,  it  was  un 
necessary,  for  his  bearing  told  everything.  Clench 
ing  his  hands,  with  a  choking  voice  he  said  at 
last: 

"  General,  I  will  give  you  General  Gordon's  exact 
words.  '  Tell  General  Lee  I  have  fought  my  corps 
to  a  frazzle  and  I  fear  I  can  do  nothing  unless  I  am 
heavily  supported  by  Longstreet's  corps.' ' 

Gordon  knew,  Grafton  knew,  every  man  in  the 
army  knew,  that  Longstreet's  corps  was  in  like 
straits  to  that  of  Gordon.  There  was  a  long  pause. 
Grafton  could  see  the  general's  lips  straighten  out 
under  the  pressure  he  put  upon  them.  He  threw  up 
his  head  for  a  moment,  as  if  seeking  strength  from 
above,  then  bent  down.  Presently  he  said  softly 


THE    ROBINGS   OF   GLORY        339 

to  himself,  staring  ahead  of  him,  his  look  compre 
hending  Grafton  without  seeing  him: 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  left  me  but  to  go  and  see 
General  Grant,  and  I  had  rather  die  a  thousand 
deaths !  " 

Perhaps  his  mind,  too,  went  back  to  that  grey 
morning  on  the  Spottsylvania  hills.  Perhaps  he,  too, 
pictured  a  great  captain  at  rest  on  the  soil  of  Vir 
ginia  with  a  bullet  in  his  breast,  his  heart's  blood 
wetting  the  earth  of  the  state  he  had  loved  with  a 
passion  passing  the  love  of  woman.  But  he  had 
work  to  do.  As  he  had  wielded  the  baton  of  leader 
ship  in  winning  the  laurels  of  victory,  so  now  he  must 
bear  the  burden  of  defeat.  He  must  go  to  General 
Grant. 

Lee  was  too  great  a  man  to  delay  when  the  inevit 
able  was  to  be  confronted.  After  that  one  ejacula 
tion  he  turned  and  summoned  a  staff  officer  and 
dictated  a  brief  note  to  General  Grant,  asking  a 
meeting  for  the  surrender  of  the  army.  He  rode 
forward  to  that  surrender  at  a  dwelling  house  in 
the  little  village  of  Appomattox  early  that  after 
noon.  Colonel  Marshall,  his  military  secretary, 
rode  with  him.  Grafton  had  rented  the  jacket  of  a 
private  soldier,  which  was  in  a  fair  state  of  repair, 
from  a  man  who  had  recently  joined  the  army  after 
a  long  sick  leave.  He  had  paid  him  the  last  piece 
of  gold  he  had  in  his  pocket  for  the  use  of  it,  and  with 
rare  devotion  he  rode  as  the  general's  orderly  to  the 
conference. 

He  held  the  horses  outside  while  Lee  and  Grant 
held  that  memorable  interview,  in  which  the  dignity 
of  the  conquered  was  matched  by  the  magnanimity 
of  the  conqueror;  in  which  was  given,  perhaps,  on 
both  sides,  the  finest  exhibition  of  American  cour 
tesy  and  American  manhood  that  the  world  has  seen. 


340  THE    PATRIOTS 

He  saw  the  Union  soldiers  standing  at  respectful 
salute  as  his  general  came  out  alone  and  stood  in  the 
doorway.  He  was  near  enough,  as  he  brought  his 
horse  to  Lee,  to  see  him  smite  his  hands  together  two 
or  three  times  softly,  the  one  gesture  that  he  made 
as  he  waited  the  approach  of  old  Traveller. 

It  was  a  silent,  horrible  ride  that  the  three  took 
back  to  the  Confederate  lines.  Marshall  whispered 
the  terms  to  Grafton,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  way  they 
said  nothing.  They  were  right  beside  Lee  when  he 
entered  the  lines.  They  heard  him  say  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  emotion,  choking  and  broken  in  spite 
of  his  superhuman  efforts  to  preserve  his  calm : 

"  Men,  we  have  fought  through  the  war  together; 
I  have  done  the  best  I  could  for  you." 

They  saw  those  men  crowd  around  Lee,  those 
gaunt,  ragged,  hungry  men,  pressing  upon  his  horse, 
laying  their  hands  upon  him,  striving  to  get  nearer 
to  him,  while  tears  streamed  down  their  haggard 
cheeks  and  sobs  shook  their  wasted  breasts.  It  was 
the  last  scene  of  all  that  may  be  mentioned  in  the 
history  of  the  great  Army  of  Northern  Virginia. 

Grafton  found  the  private  soldier  and  offered  him 
the  coat,  but  the  man  refused  to  take  it.  He  said 
that  the  gold  piece  he  had  received  had  more  than 
paid  for  it.  The  officer  must  keep  it.  A  few  days 
after  the  surrender,  the  details  having  been  com 
pleted  and  the  paroles  signed,  Grafton,  heavy- 
hearted,  rode  back  to  Richmond.  He  had  left  there 
four  years  before  in  the  humblest  station.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  military  rank  and  its  distinctions 
had  been  wiped  out  of  what  had  been  the  Southern 
Confederacy,  by  the  surrender  at  Appomattox,  and 
he  thought,  ironically,  that  it  was  fitting  that  as  he 
had  gone  forth,  so  he  came  back — in  the  jacket  of  a 
private  soldier. 


THE    ROBINGS   OF   GLORY         341 

His  heart  was  sad,  and  yet  there  was  a  lightness 
about  it,  the  lightness  that  comes  first  of  all  from 
relief  that  the  inevitable  which  had  been  impending 
has  at  last  occurred;  and  the  greater  lightness  that 
comes  from  the  knowledge  that  the  hope  deferred 
is  to  be  realised.  He  would  go  first  to  his  own 
house.  He  had  there,  he  remembered,  some  clothing 
which  he  would  have  given  to  his  slaves  four  years 
ago;  but  since  it  was  at  least  whole  and  decent,  he 
would  be  glad  to  wear  now.  More  fortunate  than 
;most  of  his  comrades,  he  could  still  command  a  little 
money,  gold,  which  had  been  saved  from  the  wreck 
of  his  fortunes.  Clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  with 
the  dreadful  anxieties  of  the  desperate  struggle  re 
moved,  he  would  soon  see  Ariadne.  The  war  was 
over — he  would  claim  her  now.  God !  how  he  loved 
her! 

So  he  rode  through  the  prostrate,  ruined  city. 
There  were  soldiers  in  blue  everywhere,  but  they  did 
not  molest  him.  He  turned  down  the  familiar 
streets  which  he  had  traversed  so  often  under  other 
circumstances.  He  had  visited  his  home  frequently 
during  the  Petersburg  siege  and  had  at  last  rein 
stated  therein  Aza  and  Aunt  Dessy,  who  had  made 
their  way  into  Richmond  after  some  marauders  had 
burned  the  little  house  near  Spottsylvania. 

When  the  Confederates  had  evacuated  Richmond 
Grafton  had  sent  Jeff  back  to  the  old  house,  instruct 
ing  him  to  wait  there  until  he  received  word  from 
him  as  to  what  he  should  do.  He  was  not  surprised, 
therefore,  to  see  the  house  open  and  smoke  coming 
from  the  chimney.  It  was  early  in  the  spring,  and 
the  magnolias  were  just  beginning  to  bloom  over  the 
gate.  He  had  never  approached  that  gate  without 
thinking  of  Ariadne  standing  there  bidding  him 
good-bye  as  he  went  to  the  war.  He  never  ap- 


342  THE    PATRIOTS 

preached  it  without  a  hope  of  seeing  her  again. 
Notwithstanding  his  assurance  to  the  contrary,  he 
half  expected  to  see  her  there  now.  But  she  was 
not  there.  Of  course  she  could  not  be,  he  thought, 
in  disappointment  most  unreasoning. 

He  rode  through  the  grounds  up  the  driveway 
and  dismounted  before  the  porch.  He  was  in  a 
hurry;  he  wanted  to  get  away  to  seek  his  wife.  In 
addition  to  his  parole  he  had  a  pass  in  his  pocket 
from  General  Grant,  which  permitted  him  to  go 
North.  Kirkwood,  who  was  now  one  of  Sheridan's 
brigadiers,  had  secured  it  for  him.  Manning,  now 
commanding  a  division  of  infantry,  had  been  one  of 
those  left  behind  to  guard  Richmond.  As  Grafton 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  porch  two  men  came  around 
the  house.  One  was  old  Aza,  the  other  Jeff. 

"  Gawd  a'mighty!  "  cried  Aza,  "  ef  'tain't  Marse 
Phil." 

"Howdy,  Marse  Phil!"  cried  Jeff,  running  for 
ward  to  take  his  horse. 

Grafton  greeted  them  heartily,  turned  over  the 
horse  to  Jeff,  and  told  Aza  that  he  wanted  breakfast 
and  a  bath  prepared  in  a  hurry,  for  he  was  going 
North  by  the  first  train. 

"  I'm  not  giving  you  orders,  Aza,"  he  said,  smil 
ing;  "  the  war  is  over  and  you  are  free." 

"  Marse  Phil,"  protested  the  negro,  with  great 
gravity,  "  we-all  b'long  to  you-all  ev'  sense  we  was 
bornded.  We's  gwine  ter  belong  to  you-all  't'well 
we  dies.  I  doan  want  no  freedom.  An'  Aunt  Dessy 
she  think  de  same  way.  We's  gwine  ter  stay  wid 
you  des  de  same  as  befo'." 

Jeff,  however,  said  nothing.  He  was  younger,  and 
freedom  had  an  alluring  sound.  Grafton  laughed, 
mounted  the  steps,  opened  the  door,  and  slipped  Into 
the  hall  with  a  careless  word.  That  word  was  car- 


THE    ROBINGS    OF   GLORY         343 

ried  up  stairs;  it  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  a 
maiden's  ear.  Grafton  stood  silent  in  the  hall  a 
moment.  His  merriment  died  away.  He  looked 
soberly  about  him  and  then  prepared  to  ascend  the 
stairs  to  the  chambers  above. 

Something  caught  his  eye.  A  hat — a  woman's 
hat — lay  on  a  table  in  the  hall.  A  woman's  cloak 
hung  from  the  old-fashioned  hat  rack.  They  could 
not  belong  to  Aunt  Dessy.  To  whom  then?  Per 
haps  some  Northern  officer's  wife  had  come  down 
to  .  a  door  was  opened  above  his  head,  he 

heard  the  patter  of  bare  feet  along  the  hall,  a  white- 
robed  figure  turned  the  corner  of  the  stair,  A  laugh, 
a  cry,  and  Ariadne  was  in  his  arms. 

Kathleen  Manning  had  brought  her  down  to 
Richmond  immediately  after  it  was  entered  by  the 
Union  troops,  and  Ariadne  had  brought  Kathleen  to 
her  home.  There  they  had  waited  the  end.  Ariadne 
had  been  nearly  frantic  with  anxiety  at  her  utter 
inability  to  get  news  of  her  husband.  She  had  been 
tossing  on  her  bed  after  a  sleepless  night  when  she 
heard  the  horse  on  the  gravel  outside,  the  voice  in 
the  hall.  In  another  moment  she  had  rushed  to  him. 

Ah,  the  war  was  over,  and  white-robed  Ariadne 
was  in  the  lucky  soldier's  arms,  kissing  him,  clinging 
to  him,  laughing,  crying,  loving  him  in  a  delirium  of 
happiness  and  joy  at  last. 


POSTLUDE 

THE  PATH  OF  DUTY  TO  THE  END 

I  BEGAN  this  veracious  chronicle  with  the  picture  of 
Robert  Lee,  and  I  close  it  in  the  same  way.  Twice 
before  death  came  to  crown  the  end  of  that  great 
life  Grafton  and  his  wife  saw  the  general.  The 
day  after  the  meeting  in  Richmond,  Grafton,  in 
doubt,  like  many  a  young  Southern  soldier,  as  to  his 
future  course,  went  to  Lee,  from  whom  he  had  been 
wont  to  receive  orders,  and  asked  advice.  Ariadne 
was  with  her  husband,  and  they  found  Lee  in  his 
home  in  Richmond.  They  had  last  seen  him  to 
gether  by  the  grave  of  an  old  friend.  As  they  stood 
before  him  now  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  confronting 
the  grave  of  Virginia  itself.  His  face  lighted  as 
he  saw  them. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  taking  Ariadne's  hands 
in  both  his  own,  "  the  end  of  the  war  has  brought  you 
together.  I  never  had  a  chance  to  thank  you  for 
that  magnificent  ride  in  the  Wilderness.  There  is 
no  reward  I  can  offer  you  now,  save  to  tell  you  what 
you  already  know,  that  in  your  husband  you  have 
one  of  my  bravest,  most  devoted,  most  able  soldiers. 
He  stood  high  in  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
and  there  was  much  bravery,  much  devotion,  much 
ability,  displayed  there." 

"  I  know  what  I  have  gained,  General  Lee,"  ex 
claimed  Ariadne,  her  eyes  brimming  with  tears. 

"  And  no  one  can  know  what  happiness  has  come 
to  me,  General,  except  for  our  country,"  said  Graf- 
ton,  quickly. 

344 


POSTLUDE  345 

'  You  are  well  mated,"  said  the  general.  "  And 
now  you  know  that  we  are  all  poor,  but  won't  you 
let  me  help  you  a  little  on  your  honeymoon?  You 
see,  I  knew  both  of  your  fathers,  and  .  .  ." 
He  took  out  a  pitifully  small  roll  of  bills,  green 
backs.  There  were  perhaps  ten  dollars  in  that  roll. 
"  I  will  divide  with  you,"  he  said,  smiling  as  if  the 
absurdity  of  his  poverty  was  the  only  thing  that 
affected  him. 

Grafton  put  out  his  hand. 

"  No,  sir,"  he  cried;  "  I  would  take  it  in  a  moment 
if  I  needed  it,  but  I  have  saved  a  little  from  the 
wreck  of  my  fortune.  And  friends  have  come  to 
my  assistance.  Indeed,  if  I  might  offer.  .  .  ." 

But  the  general  shook  his  head.  He  could  give, 
but  he  could  not  receive — that  was  one  of  the  penal 
ties  of  greatness  and  high  station. 

"  I  thank  you,  but  I  shall  do  very  well,"  he  said; 
"  and  you  will  need  all  you  have.  What  do  you 
propose  to  do?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  you  for  advice,  sir.  I  could  go 
abroad  or  .  .  ." 

"  Your  first  duty,"  said  Lee  impressively,  "  is  to 
your  wife  now."  Ariadne  had  had  to  wait  long 
enough  for  that  sentence,  but  she  was  happier  for  the 
delay  when  it  came.  '  Your  next  is  to  Virginia," 
continued  the  general.  "  There  was  a  time  when  we 
reversed  that,  Mrs.  Grafton;  not  that  we  loved  our 
wives  any  the  less."  Ariadne  nodded.  She  under 
stood.  "  Virginia  needs  her  sons,  now,"  Lee  went 
on.  "  More  than  ever  does  she  need  them  now. 
Almost  any  man  can  be  a  good  soldier;  it  takes  a 
good  man  to  be  a  good  citizen.  We  must  commence 
life  over  again  and  serve  the  state  in  peaceful  ways  as 
we  have  done  with  arms." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Grafton.     "  We  were 


346  THE    PATRIOTS 

born  here;  we'll  live  here  and  die  here  when  the  time 
comes." 

"  I  intend  to  remain,"  said  the  general.  "  Many 
of  my  soldiers  have  been  to  see  me.  Numbers  of 
them  had  resolved  upon  self-banishment.  In  every 
instance  I  have  urged  them  to  stay  here  and  repair 
the  fortunes  of  their  state." 

A  drum  had  been  throbbing,  a  bugle  shrilling, 
down  the  street  as  they  talked,  unheeding  them.  The 
music  was  so  near  now  that  they  could  no  longer 
disregard  it.  The  general  lifted  his  head;  his  eyes 
kindled  at  the  martial  sound. 

"  What  troops  are  those  ?  "  he  questioned,  step 
ping  involuntarily  toward  the  broad  open  window, 
whither  Grafton  and  Ariadne  followed  him.  As  they 
had  stood  long  ago,  youth  with  its  purpose,  age  with 
its  knowledge,  the  woman  between,  they  stood  then 
staring  out  upon  a  starry  flag,  the  flag  of  the  United 
States.  Their  flag  now,  they  thought  sadly,  with  the 
blue  St.  Andrew's  Cross  in  the  red  field,  that  they 
had  followed  in  many  a  battle,  furled  forever — but 
not  forgotten ! 

A  Federal  division  was  going  by.  Cavalry,  in 
fantry,  artillery.  They  marched  with  free,  splen 
did  step,  those  bronzed  well-clad,  well-armed 
veterans.  Lee  looked  at  them  with  an  eye  full  of 
appreciation  and  with  a  shadow  of  envy,  without 
bitterness,  as  he  thought  of  his  own  worn  and  wasted 
men.  The  officer  riding  at  the  head  of  the  column 
caught  sight  of  him,  recognised  him.  Instinctively 
he  raised  his  sword.  Blades  were  bared  in  the  morn 
ing  air,  arms  crashed  to  the  front  of  the  marching 
men.  It  was  the  last  salute  of  the  men  in  blue  to  the 
leader  of  the  men  in  grey.  Those  men  in  blue  knew 
him;  they  had  fought  him  for  four  years.  They 


''Youth   with   its    purpose,  age  with   its    knowledge,    the 

woman  between,  they  stood  then  staring  out  upon 

a  starry  flag,  the  flag  of  the  U.  S." 


POSTLUDE  347 

could  tell  a  man  and  soldier  when  they  came  face  to 
face  with  one. 

The  general  bowed  his  head,  waited  a  moment 
and  turned  away.  Without  a  word  he  held  out  his 
hands  to  the  two.  Philip  shook  one ;  Ariadne  touched 
the  other  with  her  lips.  Lee  turned  away,  and  they 
left  him  alone,  walking  up  and  down  the  great  room, 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking  .  .  . 

Nearly  six  years  after,  those  two,  lovers  still, 
stood  in  the  chapel  at  Lexington,  Virginia,  and  heard 
the  words .  that  committed  the  body  of  one  of  the 
greatest  Americans  of  his  day  to  the  earth  and  rest 
at  last.  A  few  days  before  he  had  come  home  from  a 
meeting  of  the  vestry  of  the  little  church  of  which 
he  was  the  chief  support,  and  had  stood  at  his  din 
ing  table  to  invoke  the  blessing  of  that  God  in  whom 
he  had  ever  trusted,  upon  the  evening  meal,  and  had 
been  stricken  down.  In  his  last  days,  ere  death  laid 
its  hand  upon  him,  his  mind  had  reverted  to  the 
scenes  of  his  glory,  and,  like  Stonewall  Jackson,  his 
great  subordinate,  the  name  of  one  of  his  corps 
commanders,  the  most  dependable  man  in  the  army, 
had  been  upon  his  lips.  Scarcely  could  greater 
honour  be  vouchsafed  a  man's  memory  that  he 
should  linger  last,  like  A.  P.  Hill,  in  the  minds  of 
Lee  and  Jackson. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  overlooking  the 
greatest  city  in  the  world,  rises  a  magnificent  tomb. 
The  ships  of  the  nations  sail  by  upon  that  river. 
Again  and  again  on  festive  days  the  roar  of  cannon 
in  salute  awaken  the  echoes  about  the  slumbering 
hero.  Around  the  base  of  the  monument  trade  and 
traffic,  the  tides  of  commerce,  ebb  and  flow.  Bear 
ing  upon  its  portal  a  noble  phylactery  that  says,  "  Let 


348  THE    PATRIOTS 

us  have  peace,"  it  speaks  to  men  of  the  mighty  per 
sonality  of  Grant. 

Far  to  the  South  in  the  Virginia  hills  in  a  little 
quiet  spot  in  which  he  spent  his  last  years,  training 
the  youth  of  his  land  to  remember  and  forget — to 
forget  the  bitterness  and  remember  the  devotion  of 
four  years  of  strife — in  a  modest  sepulchre  rest  the 
remains  of  Lee. 

Somewhere  beyond  the  stars,  where  the  tumult 
and  the  shouting  die,  those  men  have  met.  Diffi 
culties  past,  differences  forgotten,  they  stand  an  in 
spiration  for  American  manhood,  American  valour 
and  American  character.  With  them  I  seem  to  see 
another  figure,  the  great-hearted,  gaunt-faced,  hero 
ically  gentle  and  generous  Lincoln,  stricken  in  the 
hour  of  victory,  the  greatest  calamity  of  the  four 
years  of  strife. 

In  the  presence  of  Lincoln  and  Grant  lives  there 
a  soul  to-day  who  will  say  that  Lee  was  not  the  peer 
of  the  highest,  the  noblest,  the  best  on  earth  1 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000279633    2 


